Wintry Storm
by Dagron
Summary: The winter arrived one early summer's eve, and hasn't left since. Elsa's not been down the mountain in months. She has no idea of the extent of her snow, or the consequences on her kingdom. She knows all to well that people are after her, but she doesn't know who. Meanwhile, Merida has crossed the seas in order to break the curse.
1. Encounter

**Encounter**

* * *

Hunger drove her path. Mind numbed by pain and need, she took each step in a daze. The snow, deep as it was, barely crunched underfoot. She barely noticed. She couldn't see it, couldn't think of its beauty or freedom right now. It was barely as though she could remember who she was.

Elsa. That was her name.

She stumbled upon a root or a branch, it was hard to tell. For a moment it snapped her out of her trance. She'd been through this before. She knew that although she couldn't feel the cramping of her stomach, it was her body's need for nutrients that pushed her to leave her sanctuary. The thicket she stood in had previously been good for berries and acorns. None were there now, but for the poisonous fruit she'd left well alone, as per her training as a child. A wry smile inched its way upon her face. Somehow, this wasn't the context in which she'd pictured using such information.

This was no good. This was the furthest downhill she'd been, had allowed herself to be in months. She couldn't risk being seen, certainly not in as weak a state as she felt. Her hands shook as she pulled her cloak round tighter. She'd left it too long. Had she been stronger, more alert, she might have been able to risk going near the few dwellings that scattered the slopes just south of there. Now it would only serve to get her caught. She shuddered. The thought wasn't worth considering.

She moved on.

Idly, she wondered where Olaf was now. The little guy had a way of rescuing her from tough spots like this. A few times he'd found himself a carrot for a nose, only to give it to her. At other times he had snuck in a bag of grain for her, before chuckling in his distinctive manner and leaving. He was by nature giving, loving and inquisitive, but also quite sad, as she could tell from his charcoal eyes whenever her irritation and depression ended up pushing him away. She couldn't help it. He was the reincarnation of a childhood memory gone sour. She could never tell if she'd imagined him or if he was real; if it weren't for Marshmallow (as Olaf so affectionately called her guardian), she would definitely have pegged him as the former.

But all that was moot now. She hadn't seen him for weeks, and Marshmallow's recent injuries in the course of duty had scared Elsa to the point that it was only now she had felt desperate enough to seek out sustenance. Speaking of which...

Elsa could sense something. Unsure if she'd seen, heard or smelt it, she paused. She felt a rushing in her head, her balance swaying, but it didn't take her long to figure out a direction. Her steps unsteady now, she ducked beneath the bough of a scarred tree. There, faintly, she'd seen smoke. Scree was between her and the alcove it rose from. Progress was slow down the slope of loose rock. Dry hands nicked against rough edges. Her heels gave way. She ended up sliding down the last few meters huddled in her cloak, quickly scrabbling out of the way once she reached the bottom and heard many more rocks following her down. Blankly she stared at the rubble, unmoving. Once she was ready to move, the last stone had stopped moving the time of twenty breaths. That had been sore.

Now it was an intriguing smell that guided her. The smoke she'd seen earlier had disappeared behind fir tree and boulder. Maybe she'd imagined it, but this smell... She sniffed the air, vainly trying to recognise what it was. It stirred memories, but she couldn't tell which ones. All she did know was that it spurred on the need in her gut, the urgency that had driven her so far down the mountain. It was only through sheer strength of willpower that she stopped herself from running towards it. There could be traps.

Her vision blurred as she neared the big boulder and fir tree that hid the alcove she'd seen from above. She relied more on her hearing than sight to check that the way was clear. No voices, no stepping sounds, there was only an odd crackling and sizzling that puzzled her. The smell was most certainly stronger now. She could make out its source as she rounded the corner, a small fire, with something held above it. Curiosity overtaking caution, she shuffled towards it... and then stopped, as she became overwhelmed and fell to her knees.

Heat. She had forgotten what warmth felt like.

Tears formed in her eyes. She had missed this. More than she could ever have known, for though the cold of an icy and snowy mountain never bothered her, it would never be the same as the warmth of an open fire, logs crackling as the wood turned to ember, as light became heat. The smell of wood coal, pine and oak, could never be replaced by the cold sharp smell of winter. It brought back memories of happier times, winters spent indoors by a large fireplace, warm dinners and laughter. The tears began to run, and soon she was quietly crying as she soaked in the sweet warmth of the small fire.

For what seemed like too short a time, it felt like she could finally remember what bliss felt like.

That is when the words came.  
They had to be words, but they made no sense. The syllables, delivered in a rhotic dialect she couldn't recognise, did however send a chill down her spine. She'd been discovered. Someone else was there.

The words came again, their tone leaving little place for misunderstanding. She was the intruder; it was up to her to explain her presence here. The quiet hiss of a blade being drawn added to the urgency of the altercation... yet still, Elsa could not find it in her to turn away from the fire.

The little snow still in the alcove crunched noisily underfoot as the stranger made their way towards her. She cringed. This was it. The day she'd always known was coming had arrived. This was the day her curse would be brought to a brutal, messy end. She closed her eyes, fearful of what they might see.

She heard the strange accent once more, this time softer and more questioning. It didn't sound like a man. For some reason she found this reassuring. The last time she'd heard a sword drawn hadn't gone well...

"You... Are you well?" The words were stilted and sounded wrong, but Elsa could understand them. Startled she opened her eyes and looked towards the person who'd spoken them.

The sword was still out, gleaming darkly in the half-light. The blade looked rough and well used. The woman holding it seemed small, but the way she held it quickly told Elsa that she was no stranger to a fight. She couldn't see much of the woman's face, much of it obscured by the hood of her cloak that also hid most of the body. An intense scowl peered out from the mass of the black furred garment, the odd length of fire red curls hinting at more beneath.

Clearly frustrated by Elsa's lack of response, the woman took one hand off her weapon to pull back her hood. For all that she was still holding a sword in her direction, Elsa found the change welcome. The stranger still looked ferocious, but younger somehow, less frightening. Muttering again in that strange tongue, the woman used the free hand to reach for Elsa's hood. Startled, Elsa skittered back a few feet, as the stranger groaned before switching back to Elsa's language.

"It's... good. I... I will not hurt." With a pacifying gesture, the stranger dropped her sword and gestured for Elsa to pull down her hood. "Let me... see you."

She could have run. She could have grabbed for the sword. She could have kicked the fire to create a cloud of ash in which to hide and escape. Heavens, if she'd only been thinking, she could have used her ice magic to defence herself. Instead she did the one thing she hadn't thought she'd be able to do since that fateful night so many months ago now.

She chose to trust, and the hood came off.

* * *

For a moment, Merida stilled, unsure what to do. She recalled suddenly with great detail the fairy tales of her youth, her mother speaking of magical creatures and dangerous adversaries as she sewed her tapestry on a stormy winter's night. The intruder in her camp, the one dressed in a fine shimmery cloak of purple, too thin for the cold weather, too uncommon to be a pauper, was crying. Quiet tears rolled down damp cheeks, only to flutter off as short-lived snowflakes. The face, its skin taught, pale, the hair, white as the snow that covered the ground, and those eyes... It was like staring at one of the fae from the stories: Beautiful, cold, and most likely... dangerous.

But then the moment passed, and Merida recognised the taught dry skin, generally weak appearance of the white-haired woman to be signs of hunger. The ageless beauty of her, the richness of cloak, neither precluded her from being just another hapless victim of the winter curse. She sighed. She'd been looking forward to that game.

"Thanks," she said, in that awful tongue the locals spoke. The language of the Vikings and Norse invaders past may now be a common trading tongue for her people; it didn't make it any easier to speak. She followed it up with her more natural Gaelic. "Thank you for trusting me." Not that the strange woman seemed to understand.

Gently, so as not to startle her, though from what Merida had seen her reflexes were sluggish at best, she reached for her knife and the bowl in the bag she carried. Pointing with the bowl, she indicated the hare that she'd left roasting above the fire. The icy blue of the woman's eyes popped as she focused on the meat, as though seeing it for the first time. The apparent surprise allowed Merida to use her knife without provoking any further reaction, cutting off slices of meat that were cooked just right. It was a shame the hare wasn't any fatter, the shavings slim and tough. There was no question, however, of who of the two needed the meat most.

"Here." It took a moment for the woman's puzzled look to morph into one of stunned understanding, as Merida handed her the meat. A hoarse whisper came out in response, an echo of the thanks Merida had uttered mere moments earlier.

You're welcome, Merida thought, but that didn't help her figure out what to do next. If this woman, clearly lost, hungry and on foot had managed to find her camp, she was going to need to move, and quick.

But, she realized, as she watched the woman clumsily puzzle out how to pick up the hot food with her fingers, moving could wait.

"Merida," she announced, making the effort to speak her name slow and follow it with the local tongue. "My name is Merida."

A hesitation, second thoughts clear to see on the other woman's face as she considered her response. She certainly was a puzzle. Merida was going to need to make sure her sword stayed near.

"Elsa," the woman said, her voice stronger as she reached her resolution, clearly at peace with the decision made. "I am Elsa."

* * *

 _To be continued... Maybe?_

(I really felt the need to write _something_. This is what came out. It's an idea I've been toying with loosely, so I'm not too sure how much more there'll be.)


	2. Initial Engagement

**Initial Engagement.**

* * *

Night fell quickly in Arendelle. The sky, a blue pale and icy, soon turned to lavender and gold. The coloured light bounced off the clouds to wash across the mountainside, like the veil of a giantess wishing the living goodnight. Merida watched from atop the boulder as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, the seas swallowing up its light as night sank in. She couldn't see her homeland from here, but she spared it a thought anyway, running her whetstone along the blade of her knife one last time before putting both away. She couldn't see them in this dark night. Moonrise would not come for many hours yet. Pulling at one of the many straps under her cloak, Merida unclasped the lid of her drinking horn and took a sip of water, ice she'd put in and melted with her body warmth. She didn't reckon her local contact would be back to check on her yet. Shame, he would have been helpful...

Tilting her head back, away from the fjord below, she glanced at the form huddled by the remnants of her fire. The woman lay still, gingerly wrapped in Merida's spare blanket, the coals making her cheeks glow red. Elsa she'd called herself... What were the odds?

Bah, Merida thought to herself... It couldn't be that unusual a name. Back in her own kingdom, Merida may be uncommon, but she'd seen many subjects who'd shared first names with her father, mother and even her brothers. The fact that names similar to Elsa's were also commonplace back home certainly made her cautious of making assumptions here... Yet it was certainly an odd coincidence.

She gripped the charm on her necklace, felt the warmth of the stone against her cold fingers. Her grip tightened some more as her thoughts returned to Dunbroch. Woods, normally rich with amber and rust coloured leaves this time of year, would still be covered in snow and ice. She remembered farmers cursing as they saw their plants die, their livestock stranded or killed by the freak weather that hadn't thawed. The animals that survived would be thin, shivery, and prone to disease. The large stone castles and roaring fires were all well and good to try and cheer people up, but it did little good if the people felt they would never see colour return to their beloved hills again.

The wind whistled through the trees. The charm grew cold. Merida let go. Her fingers were freezing. She'd been without her gloves for too long. Grimacing, she slipped her hands into the ghastly things. She hated how clumsy they made her feel; disliked being unable to tell by touching the full extent of her grip on things. On they'd go nevertheless. Her fingers would be no good if they became victim to the black bite of frost. Hands numbed by the cold would be no good with a bow either, and she was going to need her bow.

She rubbed her mittens together and gripped her trusty weapon. She returned to her task. Her eyes scanned the woods below, always alert. Stars twinkled above as the last ray of twilight died. A howl rang out, soon followed by others. Let the woman Elsa sleep for now. Once the moon rose, Merida would shift camp. Until then, she was to stand guard. The early winter made the wolves reckless.

* * *

The sharp barks could only be swearwords. Muttered though they were, Elsa could sense the elaborate and intense nature of the phrases. She didn't need to speak the foreign tongue in question to gather that much. She groaned at the thumping in her head that echoed the other woman's stomping. What had...?

Oh heavens no. No, no, no... Elsa you've made a terrible mistake.

Her head swam as she forced herself to sit up. Ice coursed through her veins as the anger she felt flared; anger against herself, anger for allowing herself to be so vulnerable and stupid.

It didn't help that there was no light. Darker shadows were all she could decipher mountain from sky with. It felt claustrophobic. It was as though she was in the ballroom again, ice forming at her feet, her heavy coronation cloak suffocating her with its weight. She struggled against its pull until she could stand, feet scattering ash and reigniting one last ember. The blanket she'd been wrapped in dropped to the ground. In the small glow she could just make out the woman she should never have trusted.

"She's this way, I think."

"Yeah, that fire arrow must have come from somewhere."

"Damned the day I thank the wolves for helping us find a fugitive."

Soldiers, those were the voices of soldiers, along with the occasional whiney of horse and thwacking of sword against branch. The woman stood by the boulder leading into the small alcove, body glued to its bulk but eyes gleaming as she stared at Elsa.

Elsa had little doubt. The soldiers were here for her.

Panic rushed air into her lungs, faster than she would have liked. She ripped at the clasp of her cloak, dropping the thin construction of purple ice and shame. It didn't stop the recollection. Men were rushing up the stairs to her castle, shouting instructions, as though they hadn't been tasked with her very protection days prior. In the lead two in red, crossbows aimed at her throat, and behind them, that prince, his hazel eyes watching with a calm that had escaped her.

She heard a distant voice try to pull her from the memories, but even in her own language, she wouldn't have understood. Her sight was clouding up, specks of white swirling faster and faster around her. Her arms gripped her waist, desperately clawing for some form of control, some anchor from the dizzying chaos of the storm inside.

"It's her! It's..."

"Damn it, this is beyond our remit. Fall back!"

"Prince Hans will want to know of this."

The men's shouts were barely audible through the howling of the wind. Branches were snapping, falling, crashing nearby. Gravel and scree rung like a million bells amongst the pattering sound of snow, wet, violent and fast. Through the noise and mist of her magical outburst, and it could only be a magical outburst, Elsa clenched her jaw and focussed on the one thing about the situation that was an unknown.

She and the stranger locked eyes. The woman didn't flinch, or step back. It was still too difficult to read the expression on her face, but there was no mistaking the defensive stance, the shape of a bow held at hip height.

There, again, she was speaking in that foreign tongue of hers; a short, snappy statement, but one that wasn't strained or fearful. It confused Elsa, took some of the wind out of her fears. The snow slowed to a strong flutter.

"Who... Who are you?" Elsa snapped angrily. Why did the woman feed her if she was only going to call the army to take her? Or did she? Why was she hiding in an open air camp, amongst the trees? Why had Elsa even trusted such a dodgy character? For all she could tell, she was a criminal, a smuggler, a reprobate. Elsa felt such a fool. "What do you want?!"

The falling snow seemed to still. The woman, had she even told Elsa her name? She couldn't remember. She remembered the red hair and warm smile as the stranger had unearthed some vegetables cooking by the fire. She looked very different now.

There was something wispy and otherworldly about the foreign woman. A sliver of moonlight cleared the mountains, giving her a bluish glow. The black fur of her cloak stood in stark contrast to the now snow encrusted boulder, what little flakes had got caught fell off as the woman straightened her posture. Her hair, once wild and uncontrolled, had been somewhat weighed down by the sudden snowfall, but still hung at improbable, seemingly unnatural angles. Jaw squared and brows severe, she spoke.

"I am Merida," the strength of elocution, projection of the voice was unmistakeably trained. The accent was still thick but less of a problem as she enunciated each syllable. She continued, tone and posture strong with defiance. "Princess of Dunbroch, and I will save my kingdom from your winter."

The emphasis put on her goal, Princess Merida then started advancing towards Elsa.

"Don't come any closer!" A flick of her wrist, immediate, unplanned, spikes of ice shot up from in front of Merida's feet, sharp, ominous and not deterring her in the slightest. Thick boots, not managing to kick the spikes aside, just stepped over and between them. The command in Elsa's voice wavered as she shot out another wave of magic. "I said get back!"

The first time she had used her magic to fight, it had been instinctual, driven by the urge to protect herself first and just push others away. Guards tumbled down the stairs like skittles, she'd pinned the Weselton escorts to the walls, terror gleaming in their eyes as battle rage had settled in, anger driving points to their necks. All the while that prince, Hans was it, had tried to talk her down, to bring her down from becoming the monster they feared she was.

They'd been right.

A bolt was fired from a crossbow. Just like the first, it was stopped from reaching its target, but this time, it was diverted. Flung high into the ceiling, it collided with the chandelier. A multitude of crystals came crashing down as she ran towards the culprit, magic spiralling out of control from her hands. She shot the man in the chest, not with ice, but with cold. He coughed, a lock of hair turning white as Prince Hans shouted in fury from the other side of the room. Why her, was all Elsa thought of in that instant. Why did they have to come and pick on her?

"Leave me alone!" She'd shouted then, summoning a beast of snow and frost. She shouted it now, as the cold swirled around her fist, ignoring the voice in her mind, that of a terrified child, shouting no. Sparks of blue and white swirled and coalesced into a stream that went straight for Merida's chest.

The young woman, taken aback by the blow, the strength of it, stumbled backwards. Ice crunched as she landed heavily on the icicles behind her. Elsa couldn't look, couldn't bear the thought of having killed, yet again. There was nothing else that kind of magic could be than death. The pacing took over, always the pacing. What was she going to do? Snow swirled once more around her, a tornado of ice and gale.

"You... wish you had not done that." The accent was thick once more, the voice practically in her ear. Elsa felt as though her heart was going to stop. Princess Merida was there, glaring, standing; the only mark of Elsa's attack a smidge of white fur appearing on Merida's cloak. Though the woman still held her bow in hand, it was only loosely, her other hand having grabbed the now dirty and sodden blanket, and a travel sack she'd packed earlier, weighing heavily on her shoulder. "I thank you, your majesty, for scaring the soldiers away, but we need to leave..."

Stepping away from Elsa, the impossible woman made for the entrance to the small alcove. "...unless Elsa wants to see them bring their friends?"

Relief, cautious but there nonetheless, prompted the storm around Elsa to collapse, disappearing from the moonlit night sky. Merida had not sought to harm her, only to collect her things. Merida didn't appear to have been affected by her attack either, a feeling so strange and wondrous Elsa was struck dumb from confusion.

"I... Sorry." She said dumbly, heeled shoes taking shaky steps to follow the woman in the fur cloak. Clearly the months of isolation had done her no favours. She looked for her thin cloak, found it peeking out of a pile of snow. Had that been where the fire was? No matter. The cloak, though a little torn, was fine. She pulled it on, huddled in it, felt small.

She didn't feel like a queen right now. She was just a lost young woman, who hadn't even been able to stop herself from trying to hurt the one single human being to have shown her kindness since she left Arendelle castle. Self-pity choked her, but she forced herself to move, to follow Princess Merida as she led the way. Elsa's outburst had doubled the thickness of the snow, making progress slow and difficult, even for Merida's well booted feet.

Elsa was going to need to do a lot of thinking, but she was clearly indebted to the woman. With a small wave of her hand, she let a wave of her magic splash across the snow before them. Merida stilled, turned to eye her with obvious wariness.

Embarrassed, Elsa could not find the words to explain. She gestured to the snow bank and nodded. Hesitantly, Merida stepped forward. The snow underfoot had changed, no longer soft and fluffy. It crunched, holding her weight.

After pulling her other leg out of the hole her previous steps had made, and going forward a bit further and faster, Merida spoke. It was a single world, and though it was definitely not her tongue, Elsa had no trouble understanding what it meant.

Thanks.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

 _(Was playing the Brave videogame after Christmas. It certainly helped with inspiration!)  
_


	3. Outdoorsman

**3\. Outdoorsman**

* * *

Kristoff Bjorgman was quietly escorted out of the castle walls by a quiet, depressed looking manservant. Kai, for all his faults, was a good man. Kristoff could tell. It pained him to see a good man so dispirited, but knowing why didn't make it any easier to help.

"She seemed worried," Kristoff said, hoping to spur some kind of conversation. Anything was better than this uneasy silence of despair, and that was coming from a man who thought speaking was overrated. "There been trouble with the Prince lately?"

"Oh, no, no..." Kai fluttered his hands, though his brow never lifted. "Never with the Prince..." Even Kristoff could tell that that was forced. From what he'd heard, the Prince never even bothered to visit her these days, though he claimed to be monitoring her health regularly. Kai paused in his shuffling walk and sighed. How to put into words the full horror of the truth? He couldn't, so he didn't try. "She's just... She likes to hear things, you know? And a couple of days ago she heard about some altercation near the port. Nasty business, one of the recruits from the Southern Isles was given a clip up the ear. It's..."

The older man ruffled what little hair he could find near the top of his head, eyes scouring the ground for information. Kristoff had a feeling he knew of the tale Kai was on about, but wasn't about to offer up any information. When Kai looked to him, Kristoff just tilted his head and pretended to be puzzled.

"It's been a while since she's heard any nice news."

"I know," Kristoff said. He felt himself deflate. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault the country's in the state it's in currently."

But he could have helped. He should have helped her more. So he just shrugged and kept walking on.

"Here we are." Kai pulled the latch, turned the key and opened the door. After a cursory look around, the manservant fished out a small pouch from his pockets and handed it to Kristoff. As usual, the pouch was accompanied by a grateful whisper. "Thanks again for your time. I, we... She really appreciates it. I don't think she'd be doing this well without you."

And didn't Kristoff know it. Grimly he took the pouch and offered up a sad smile. With a nod, he left Kai's company, nonchalantly walking out of the servant's door into the city's streets. For the world to see, he was probably just an odd job man hired to straighten a door or fix up some paint job. Nothing unusual in a castle that had kept on a fairly low level of staff since the queen's coronation; the fact that the Queen currently didn't reside there was another matter entirely.

The coin pouch felt heavy in his pocket. Though in the past he'd gone to spend a penny or two in the nearest bar to drown his woes, tonight he didn't feel like it. He strolled down the street, turned a corner or two until he found the mountain path, and let his feet crunch over the small pile of snow that had constantly formed there since summer. It didn't take long for him to find the stable he now rented every week for a night or two. Sven grunted as he entered, cracking the flint ever so carefully to light a small lantern. His reindeer friend had clearly settled in for the night, not expecting Kristoff back until the small hours of the morning.

"Sorry chum," Kristoff threw his tool bag on the floor, scourers and hammers clanging noisily as he kicked off his snow encrusted boots. "I'm not drinking tonight. Will you cheer up if I sing you a song?"

He watched as Sven's ears perked up eagerly, the reindeer clearly more enthused at the idea of a sing-along than a lonely nap. Kristoff chuckled as he reached for his lute. He sat himself down, leaning against Sven's flank as the reindeer licked his face. After tuning the strings he started playing a few chords, notes spilling out in a melancholy tune as his mind wandered back to that day.

He remembered it fairly well. It was the day his life was turned upside down, the day he met Anna.

* * *

 _  
_The blizzard had come from nowhere.

The day, up until that point, had been beautiful, warm sunshine, the kind that said: "summer has arrived and is here to stay!" He was riding back up into the mountains, Sven pulling the brand new sleigh propped up on its summer wheels with a hop in his step. Kristoff was relishing the smell of fresh wood, the luxury of a seat with no splinters, the warm breeze on his skin as the sun began dipping below the horizon. He still had some of his ice in the back of the sleigh, what little of his haul he hadn't sold in Arendelle during the Queen's coronation. The last harvest had been a hard gruelling one in spring, good ice harder to get to and prone to melting, but it had proved profitable enough for him to finally make his large purchase, leaving him little in the way of change but buoyant about his future in a much more suitable vehicle.

He'd go to Oaken's, he decided. He was bound to sell the last of his ice there for a good profit.

And then the snow had come.

He thought he was hallucinating at first. He wondered if that beer he'd had before leaving had been laced with something a bit too exotic for his liking. Then he felt the cold, and Kristoff knew what that meant. It was sharp. The air tasted dry, metallic. This was not the chilled breeze coming off the mountains as night fell. This was winter, cruel, unforgiving, intent on sinking its teeth into the land until it was as hard as his pike and robbing the heat from any living creature without a coat. Good thing for Sven, the reindeer hadn't shed his entire winter coat yet... Kristoff, however, was going to need to stop the sleigh and find his.

By the time he dug out his coat, scarf and hat from the bottom of his travel chest, the floating flecks of ice had turned into a proper whiteout. His feet crunched in the rapidly accumulating snowfall, telling him in very clear terms that the wheels on his sleigh would need to come off. He swore; fingers already numb from the cold as he pulled on his mitts. It was July for goodness sake. This wasn't natural!

There was no way he was selling the last of his ice now.

Still, if he could figure out where the freak snowstorm was coming from, how it had formed... His life as an ice harvester depended on his ability to predict when ice would form and when the heat would come to increase the demand for his product. All his knowledge screamed at him that the night should have been warm enough to sleep under the stars by.

A quick scan of his surroundings and recall of conditions before the sudden change, and Kristoff felt his mood sink further. The storm was centred over the top of the mountain. That never happened. It just _couldn't_. The only possible explanation was witchcraft. Unfortunately, Kristoff knew from experience that there was such a thing as magic.

It was thus that grumpy, encrusted with snow and cold, he finally managed to make it to Oaken's. It was a miracle that he didn't lose his cool when the bearded trader gave him the line about supply and demand. "Don't talk to me about supply and demand!" He thought really hard, as he dug deep in his pockets for the last of his precious coin. Without this freak weather, there was no question that he could've bartered for the rope, grappling hook and carrots at a discount. As it was, he had to content himself with just carrots. At least Sven would have something to keep him happy.

He left the store, door slamming behind him with a discordant jangle of the bell. That was when he met her. A strange looking creature, a fish out of water: she was a pretty woman in a party summer dress walking across deep snow. Her arms were red raw from the cold, stuck out at odd angles and her dress clearly soaked in ice water. The stiff angle the skirt travelled along at showed how quickly it had set into the material. She didn't frown or glare when she got to the door. She smiled at him, through the shivering and clattering of her teeth, the words "oh, and sauna..." slipping out as a charmed whisper as he surprised himself by pulling the door open for her.

It took him a minute of staring at the soon closed door before he shook himself out of a daze.  
"Carrots," he muttered, remembering that Sven was waiting on him nearby. The reindeer was looking on bemused, though very much invested in the bundle of vegetables.

Kristoff sighed. Tossing a carrot to Sven and pointing him towards the barn for the night, he figured that the young woman would be safe enough in Oaken's care. For all that he was tough to bargain with, he had a good heart.

He didn't expect how he would find her next. 

* * *

Merida trudged along in the moonlight, boots crunching on snow that only moments before would have had her sinking down to her knees. She squinted at trees and boulders, difficult to make out for the snow and shadows obscuring them. There was a regular tinkling sound, as sparks of magic danced around her feet, solidifying further snow, lighting up the odd landmark, and reminding her ever more of her dilemma.

Merida was angry.

Normally, she would have found a fallen tree to vent her frustrations out on. There was something satisfying about the smack of iron on wood, digging dip gouges into solid blocks. Normally, she would seek the first opportunity to be alone so she could rant. Sometimes, if things were really bad, she'd go to her best friend, her horse, if only so she could have someone to nod along to her tirades.

None of that would do now though. She felt like crying. Her horse Angus was stuck in a stable, in her father's castle across frozen seas. She'd fought monsters, animals and men, in order to get to Arendelle. She'd spent weeks a fugitive, in a land harsh and forgiving, hunted by the local authorities for daring to stand up for common decency, for protecting her father's name. Trust the Vikings to not recognise diplomatic immunity... Not that she could really claim it, considering her goal in coming to Arendelle in the first place. This was harder than she could ever have imagined.

Cold inside, Merida glanced back at the waif of a woman behind her. She'd found her. This was the witch whose curse had blighted the lands of Dunbroch, the Northern Seas, and the very lands of her own people. This was the monster who could steal away summer in a heartbeat. She was the one Merida had been hunting... and she was nothing like what she'd expected.

She'd thought she was up against a heartless queen, a being of magic, with no emotions beyond contempt. She'd been told tales of how she would steal children away, put ice into men's hearts, turn even the nicest of princes cruel. She'd expected a dramatic confrontation, where she would barge into her ice palace and put an end to her cruel reign. She hadn't expected... This.

The medallion around Merida's neck felt heavy now. The old hag in the hills had been right. Things weren't going to be so simple. There was no way in her heart Merida could harm the woman behind her as things stood. She was reminded of her mother, cursed, unable to stop the magic from robbing her of her senses when danger called, when the bear took over. Queen Elsa was no villain. As far as Merida could tell, she was a broken woman, someone in need of rescue.

Merida's frustration at not knowing what to do next just added to her fury.

Elsa's panicked display of magic had had the beneficial effect of routing Merida's pursuers for now. Damn those wolves only heeding arrows of flame... It didn't stop Merida's hands from itching, her heart from thumping hard. There had been a moment where she had feared the worst. The sheer terror in Elsa's moonlit eyes as that bolt of magic had burst from her hands... It had hurt. If it hadn't been for the skin of Mor'du, Merida was pretty certain it would have done worse than hurt. Elsa may not be evil, but she was most certainly dangerous.

That was why this was so tricky.

Merida paused, as she found herself at a crossroads. Behind her the queen eyed her warily, resting a moment against a small cliff of ice. Merida could tell that her words earlier had had an impact. It maybe wasn't her smartest move to declare her intentions so bluntly, but Merida had been peeved. She was a terrible liar anyway. At least they both knew where they stood... for now.

"I..." she paused, remembering that Elsa didn't understand her Gaelic. She tempered her frustration and switched to Arendelle's Norsk. "I did not want to come here so early." She meant soon. She couldn't remember the damn word. "I have a friend." She waved her hand in the air, indicating that the friendship was dubious, but the person was an ally. "He knows to meet me here, if my camp is..." oh, what was the word? She settled for saying it in Gaelic, hoping the context would help understanding. "Compromised..."

"Follow me." Merida indicated the thin rocky crevice to her left. It did not look inviting, but that was kind of the point. Elsa huffed, a startling lack of steam coming from her mouth as she stood back upright, wavering slightly. Darn, the woman looked weak. How long had she gone without food?

Still, Elsa followed. Her icy gaze was fixed solidly on the back of Merida's hood as the Scots Princess found herself shivering. At least she had the relative warmth of their destination to look forward to.

"You are the Bear King Fergus's daughter." There was a hint of incredulity in Elsa's voice, one that Merida found even more amusing when Elsa continued on to repeat her father's title in very approximate Gaelic.

Merida held up a corner of her cloak, enjoying this small opportunity to mock, if a little, the person who'd given her such a difficult series of months. The bear claw still attached to Mor'du's hide would always be a reminder to Merida of the mortal peril of pride.  
"Aye, I am." She forced herself to enunciate as best she could. This was not a time for miscommunication. The white patch on the fur near her breast also glimmered in the moonlight. "And you are the Ice Queen." She frowned. "Truce... for now?"

Merida paused at the mouth of the crevice, waiting for Elsa's reply.

There was wariness on Elsa's face, lines drawn even deeper by the dark shadows of moonlight. Doubt, fear, desperation, it wasn't hard to read, just hard to comprehend. Where was the stoic princess Merida had heard of? Where was the commanding woman, heir of the Arendelle' throne she'd had described to her, by envoys to the coronation who'd returned late, shaken and frightened, from the events that had unfolded? Finally, Elsa seemed to make her mind up, for her face cleared, turning up to the light of the moon for a moment. A smile, sad and lonely, preceded her reply.  
"Truce."

And then she bent her head low, face entirely in shadow as she made to follow Merida into the darkness of the crevice.

Merida kept quiet, but she couldn't help but interiorly pest the complexity of this all. Why couldn't Elsa have simply been evil? Why couldn't she have been more like Mor'du?

And then Merida recalled that for all Mor'du's evil deeds, originally he had just been a man who'd let pride cloud his judgment, cursed to live out his mistake for generations. Death for Mor'du had been release, bittersweet. If there was a way to save the Ice Queen from a similar fate, and all those her winter had harmed...

For a moment, as she stepped further into the crevice, hands pushing along rock that was pleasantly not cold, she thought she glimpsed the faint blue glow of a wisp. 

* * *

He dreamt. It was not a good dream. He'd had it before.  
And like every time before, it felt like reality until he woke up, sweating, shivering, muttering confused words that did little to impress Sven. The reindeer gave him a rude shove with his antlers. It broke away the grogginess, but not the memory. Kristoff shook his head.

"Sorry Sven." He must have been thrashing about in his sleep to warrant such a reaction from his pillow and best friend. "Ugh..."

The young woman from Oaken's, he could still see her in his mind, collapsed, in the snow. Her auburn plaits the only bit of her he could notice at first. The drift had been moments away from covering her entirely. She'd been better dressed that time, but still unprepared, clearly untrained, suffering from hypothermia. She could barely open her eyes while he dug her out. A name came out of her lips, whispered, weak. There was desperateness to her plea that seemed to match the nature of her situation. Kristoff had to act fast.

Kristoff desperately tried to shake the dream from his head. He had things to do today, places to be. The princess was safe for now, relatively. He'd come back to check on her next week. First, he had to keep his promise to meet up with that traveller who'd caused so much trouble in the port.

He smiled, remembering the encounter. It had been nice to see someone standing up to one of the Southern Isles bullies who'd shown up since Prince Hans took over. Just a shame that there was now a bounty upon her head: the only reason she got away was thanks to Kristoff hiding her in his sleigh. Sven had rapidly mastered the art of making Southern Isles soldiers nervous.

Right, he was getting ready... Thankfully, the natural blandness of his morning ablutions helped to still his mind. Routine took over. Clean up the hay, feed Sven, and feed the self. Try to beat the stench of reindeer out of clothes. Get washed, shave, be dressed. Pack everything up and prepare Sven's harness.

Stepping out of the stable, Sven following calmly, Kristoff looked to the sky. The stars still twinkled above. He had not slept all that long. The only hint of morning was a faint strip of dark blue rising to the east. There were some ominous clouds about. One hung close to the mountain slopes above, about where he'd left his traveller last. It was best to be prepared for bad conditions then.

He reached for the coin pouch he'd received the night before. Money had become increasingly valuable as food and supplies had become harder to get by. He didn't visit the Princess for the money, but he couldn't deny that it made his life a lot easier. He didn't feel that he deserved such kindness, but he would take it. As an outdoorsman, his first priority was always survival, not ethics.

So he would use the princess's coin to purchase supplies, food, blankets and arrows for the traveller he'd rescued, and some for himself. The traveller would pay him back in hunted game, pelts, by being healthy.

Thinking on it, Kristoff really needed to stop rescuing folk.

He walked across the street, stepping into the general store the owner ran on an honesty jar system. The woman's husband had fallen ill due to the constant cold, and spent what time she wasn't sourcing supplies for the store, a growing concern, looking after him. It was handy for out of hours shopping, and Kristoff enjoyed knowing that his coin would be helping those in need rather than feeding greed.

As he fished out the coin from the purse however, he found an oddity.

A piece of paper, folded... Darn. It had writing on it. Turning the store's lamp up, he scowled at the scrawled lettering. Even if the lines hadn't been written with a shaky hand, he would have struggled to decipher it. He could make out a few words though, enough to get the gist of the secret request, to recognise the name of the sender.

He'd have to find someone to double-check... Who though? This was clearly something too secret to even be whispered in an enclosed space, or passed on by a man servant. It concerned his rescued traveller. It seemed urgent.

Hopefully, the girl from Dunbroch would be able to read it with him.

* * *

 _To be continued..._


	4. Sulphur

**4\. Sulphur.**

* * *

The crevice was dark, dank and musty. Fingertips hesitantly reaching out for the walls, Elsa felt moss, lichen, slime... Her magic coated it in fleeting frost as she reacted to the unpleasant sensation. She could sense the warmth of the rocks underneath. She hadn't thought any part of the North Mountain had been spared her winter, but this place certainly seemed untouched.

Merida's boots, no longer crunching on top of snow, thudded with an ominous echo with every step. Every now and then, there'd be a splash. The bearskin-wearing princess of Dunbroch skulked forward, her bow at the ready as she led them around a bend. She moved with the ease of a warrior, the caution of a hunter. Once or twice, a ray of moonlight filtered down from above as she turned her head to check on Elsa's progress. The grey seeming eyes fixing her made the blond shiver, but follow none the less.

Where else was she to go?

"You... You want to close your nose," Elsa's guide said, hesitantly, choking the words out.

Within two steps, Elsa realized why. A strong smell, acrid and rotten assaulted her nostrils. It was nothing like the pleasantness of the earlier campfire, and Elsa clasped a hand over her face as she tried not to gag. Where on earth were they going? It was certainly clear now why Merida had expressed reluctance upon having to take this path.

Unease settled over the snow queen, causing her stomach to churn unpleasantly and her free hand to clasp desperately across her abdomen. The smell was familiar, but she couldn't place why. The crevice was getting deeper, darker, and warmer. It was starting to feel claustrophobic.

Elsa's breath hitched.

"We are there, little time." A hand caught hold of Elsa's elbow, the tone of voice gentle. "Watch the step."

Taking deep breaths, Elsa willed the thudding in her ears to slow. Trickling water could be heard. She took a step forward and then was instantly glad Merida had a hold of her arm. The drop was a lot bigger than anticipated. Elsa's heels scraped and slid along the slippery rock, forcing her to rely on her guide's strong hold. Even through the material of her cloak and top, Elsa could feel the calluses, the strength the smaller woman had.

Two more steps and a nearly sprained ankle, Elsa had enough.

"This is silly..." She sighed, righting herself against the wall with Merida's help.

"This is the one path." Merida seemed to shrug. "You have a better idea?"

Apart from wishing she hadn't put heels on her shoes? Actually, yes.

With a deep breath, Elsa closed her eyes and visualised what needed doing. When she was ready, she flashed her eyes open and summoned a small flurry. The sparkle of magic provided just enough light for her to see how far down they had yet to go. With a second wave of her free hand, she started summoning stairs of ice. Slats fell into place one by one. As she stepped onto the first one, she felt Merida's grip on her other arm loosen, and she was free to set her second hand to task. A rudimentary railing came into being, arching out from the walls and twinkling. As Elsa finished the last touches, she felt the princess let go, somehow missing the touch more than she felt possible.

"Wow..." The Scottish woman whispered awe evident in her voice. She went on to say something else, but Elsa couldn't make head or tail of it. Obviously her guide had fallen back into her native Gaelic.

The stairs glittered helpfully, a gentle glow in the ice picking up what little moonlight managed to reach down this far. It certainly made the descent much easier.

"Thank you..." The dark form of Merida seemed less frightening in the glow of the ice, her face rounder, gentler as she reached Elsa's side at the foot of the stairs. The bow was only held loosely in her hand now. Elsa could just about notice some kind of pattern adorning it.

"You're welcome," Elsa replied, automatically. She had no doubt that Merida would have, and already had managed the rocky drop down without her aid. Besides, the stairs were likely to melt within the day. She turned to face the path onwards, where the crevice seemed to split into three branches. "Which way now?"

"This way," Elsa could hear the grin in Merida's voice. She half hoped that she would hold onto her arm again and guide her, but she only went forward and gestured her towards the opening on the left.

There was an abrupt turn, and then light flooded the rocky hole. Elsa had to squint, looking up to the sky. The moon was nowhere to be seen now, but its light was seeping into the clouds, refracted in ways similar to the light in the ceilings of Elsa's Ice Palace.

Here the crevice widened into something of a clearing, jutting rocks forming a twisting window above their heads. The area, gleaming harsh in the white light of night, had various boulders sitting about, and pools of water steaming. The smell wasn't so bad here, the larger space certainly helping.

It didn't stop Elsa's heart from sinking. This still looked eerily familiar, and that dull warmth and the slight smell? It reminded her of that night oh so very long ago where her world had been turned upside down. Part of her wanted to flee, to return to her ice palace and hide behind Marshmallow. Another part secretly hoped for a troll to appear, rearing its craggily head to tell her how to dispel her winter curse. Neither side won, however, indecision immobilising her as Merida skipped towards the nearest pool.

"Failté," the woman said, her curls sprawling back out from her hood as she dropped her bag and undid her cloak. She threw an arm out in a dramatic sweep. "Welcome. Make yourself comfortable."

Elsa approached, more out of the need to not be alone than any hope for comfort. She sat on a small boulder as Merida pulled her boots off, stretched out her arms and yawned.

"Ah was on watch," the Scottish woman explained, her accent getting thicker as she sat down on her cloak. Another yawn threatened to drown the rest of her words. "Ah need sleep. Will ye watch for... morning light? Please?"

"I..." Watch for morning light? What did she mean?

Elsa forced herself not to wring her hands as she looked at Merida. The Princess had appeared short before, but without the bulk of her bearskin coat, she seemed even smaller, less warrior-like and certainly too young to be on the run by herself in a foreign land.

"Sure..." Elsa said, rubbing the bridge of her nose, wondering what she was signing up for. Seeing Merida look at her confused, she nodded the affirmative. It seemed to reassure the maiden.

Elsa watched as she unclasped her belt, removing her quiver and sword. She took a sip from her drinking horn, offering it to Elsa in turn. She refused. If she was thirsty, she could just summon some ice to chew. That seemed to be the bulk of Merida's preparations. She rolled herself up in the fur of her cloak, hand reaching out for the carved wood of her now unstrung bow. A mutter rose from the bearskin bundle, unintelligible. Elsa guessed she'd been saying goodnight.

It wasn't long before Merida's breathing settled into the soft rhythm of slumber. It was cute, in a way, how she held onto the wood of her bow like Anna used to hold onto her doll as a child.

Thinking of Anna...

Elsa raised her head as a shadow passed over their camp. Either the clouds above were getting thicker, or the moon was away to set. It wouldn't be Elsa's first sleepless night sat in darkness. She stared glumly at the starless sky. She worried about Anna. She would be in charge of the kingdom now, by all rights. Elsa wondered how she was getting on. Their father had always said that the burden of rule wasn't an easy one at the best of times. Maybe when Merida woke up, Elsa would be able to ask after her little sister's fortunes.

"I'm sorry Anna..." Elsa muttered, for perhaps what was the hundredth time in as many days.

The sky darkened. She sat, and waited.

* * *

Dawn, crisp and slow was creeping up the mountain at a similar pace to Kristoff. Even with a well serviced sleigh and enthusiastic reindeer, the going was tough. It didn't help that he was trying to avoid unwanted attention. Sure, it was expected of him to go up the mountain regularly. He was an outdoorsman, and even if he was no longer expected to do runs as an ice harvester, he was often doing deliveries, taking mail, checking on outposts and isolated families. He wasn't however expected to do this in any sort of hurry without good cause.

He studiously played the role of a bored driver as they passed one of the many checkpoints on the main path out of Arendelle city. The advantage of his early morning schedule meant there weren't many guards on, and they weren't very alert, but he didn't want to take the risk. Not with the note folded in his pocket. If the guard happened to be one of the recruits from the Southern Isles or an enthusiastic Arendellian who was supportive of the Prince's rule, they wouldn't be above asking him to empty his pockets for inspection.

The long winter alongside the regent's seeming paranoia certainly made people twitchy.

He turned off the main road as soon as he could, the dazzling light of the sun starting to glint over the mountain's slopes, hidden just behind. Something moved through the trees, catching his eye, causing him to stop. Sven huffed, his breath misting as he licked at a nearby tree in protest. Kristoff stayed quiet, listening, and alert. Now that the sleigh was still, he could hear muttering, clinking. Gently stepping out of the sleigh, he tried to get a better angle. It was a little downhill, behind a large pine. He didn't need to go far to see, the snow encrusted greenery hiding him from the ones below.

Men, a score or so... Soldiers, wearing the distinctive grey-green coats of Arendelle's guard, lined up in front of a medalled Southern Isles soldier, listening as the white-coated man issued indistinct instructions. The commander flashed his sword about, explaining the movement that Kristoff's eye had caught. The soldiers all had sword scabbards at their hips, but more noticeably crossbows and the odd portable cannon. His heart skipped a beat. Stumbling backwards, he swore beneath his breath and quickly got the sleigh up and running again, Sven swinging his head about in a clear attempt to tell Kristoff to make his bloody mind up already.

Once they were clear enough of the militia that he was comfortable making a louder noise, he called out, whipping the reins and encouraging Sven to go faster. All thought of discretion had fled from Kristoff's mind at the sight of the armed contingent.

Either Prince Hans had authorised another assault on the Snow Queen, or they were going all out to find the fugitive he was protecting.

* * *

Merida awoke at the first rays of sun creeping into their alcove. Hey eyelids fluttered open, squinting at the bright opening above. She groaned. Her sleep had been far too short, but it was better than nothing. The vestiges of disturbing dreams slowly filtered out of her consciousness. She hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.

Her back ached horribly as she tried to rollover. For all his fur, Mordu's skin didn't make for a great mattress. Merida half wished she'd found a snow bank to lay the skin on, but she didn't fancy waking up damp, again. Dry rock was, all things considered, an acceptable compromise. She stretched, glancing up to see where her companion-mark-whatever was.

Merida was relieved to see that Elsa hadn't left, or imprisoned her would-be opponent within walls of ice. The thin, white and sparkly-clothed woman was sat on the same boulder she'd been on when Merida had settled in for the night. She was now leaning against the wall and bigger boulder alongside, still as ice. Merida wasn't surprised to see that sleep had taken Arendelle's lost queen. Anyone who'd been as undernourished as the woman Merida had met last night wasn't going to last long on night watch duty, no matter how high-strung they were or how recently they'd napped.

The whole exercise had been about building trust anyway. Merida yawned as she sat up, nose scrunching up as she took in the scent of her clothes and bedding. Yep, they needed a wash. Thankfully, the alcove's natural hot springs were right there... When Merida saw Kristoff, she was going to hug the man for telling her about this place.

Now what was his advice about the hot pools again? Ah, yes, don't get cooked alive in one. She grabbed her sword and scabbard. She was going to need to test the waters, and her blade seemed like a good enough tool to help her gauge the heat without putting her hand in first. She paused then, reminding herself that while it was all well and good getting the clothes washed, she would also need to find a way to dry them. Though the alcove they were in was a lot warmer than the mountain outside, it was still not the warmest of places to be while you waited for your clothes to dry, and certainly not the fastest place to dry wet cloth in, as little breeze moved around. There was barely enough air movement to reduce the smell of brimstone to bearable.

With a raspberry, she put the sword back down and looked around for the supply stash Kristoff had mentioned. A small collection of dry wood and some nuts would certainly help with getting a fire going to dry clothes with and feed a hungry tummy.

It was times like these that Merida remembered just how much she loved outdoor life, even if she sure did miss the comfort of stone walls. There was something good and earthy about nature, living close to it, relying upon your wit and smarts to make the most of it. It wasn't easy, but Merida had never been one to balk at a challenge. If she had been, she never would have made the journey in the first place.

Now to see how quickly she could get this fire going _without_ the magic of the amulet the witch had given her.

* * *

The sound of steel rasping against steel roused Elsa from her doze with a start. In a panic, she raised her hands, magic pooling into her fingertips out of sheer reflex. And then she stopped, realizing that the sound had been faint and that the owner of the sword it belonged to was facing away from her. She shook her head, feeling slightly dizzy, before muttering to herself, a habit she had soon developed during her retreat in the ice palace, if only to dispel the quiet.

Of course, she didn't expect a reply, even though she knew the other person was there.  
"What?" She asked, unsure what the response had been. It had sounded like a garbled mess of syllables.

As she rubbed the sand from one eye, she could see the redhead twist her face towards her and smirk. More of her foreign dialect spilled forth. It wasn't until she pointed towards a small bowl by the fire that Elsa could make any meaning of what she was saying. Princess Merida was clearly aware of this, chuckling as she went back to whatever it was she was doing... What was she doing?

As Elsa gingerly stood up and walked up to the fire, she noticed that the Scots woman had shucked her dress. She was kneeling in her underclothes next to one of the pools, her outer vestments in a pile next to her. The sword, free of its scabbard, was being slowly dipped into the steaming waters.

Elsa kneeled. She picked up the bowl, still secretly revelling in the warmth coming off the flames in waves. The bowl contained some recently unshelled nuts, dried berries and grain: a meagre breakfast by most standards, but to Elsa a veritable feast. Picking up one of the berries, she turned her gaze back to the foreign princess. She was holding a palm to the side of her blade, smiling.

"What are you doing?"

Merida's reply was as unhelpful as the last, though this time Elsa thought she could distinguish the structure of a word or two. Her brows creased as she watched the redhead put her sword down and lift her discarded dress up. Oh.

The dark blue material that had been encrusted with brown and grey muck at the hems was dipped into the pool and swirled around. Elsa was suddenly very aware of Merida's frame, how toned her arms were, the tension in her shoulders as she stirred. Sweat from the effort and steam off the pool was forming on her skin. Merida didn't seem to mind.

It was alien, to Elsa, watching someone do this. Oh, she knew how clothes got washed, that there were soaps involved and scrubbing of linens. She just... Elsa had never sat and watched it done before. From the way Princess Merida was going about it, she'd clearly done it quite a few times. She even started humming a bit of a song as she rubbed at the more stubborn stains against the rocky ledge of the pool, a bar of soap barely noticeable in one hand.

Elsa sat a while, watching, munching on her breakfast one item at a time. The light coming in from the opening above was getting brighter, if still diffuse. Elsa wondered how long she'd slept. She felt a little guilty for not keeping better watch, but she'd never been that heavy of a sleeper... Normally.

It must have been the food, the queen reasoned. She hadn't had so much to eat in one bout as she had last night in weeks. She swallowed. She was lucky she could stomach as much to be honest. She'd barely had a handful of berries and nuts and already she felt full. But she needed to eat, so she kept going, distracting herself by puzzling over the princess in front of her.

Merida, Princess of Dunbroch, daughter to the Bear King Fergus... Not much was known about the kingdom of Dunbroch, beyond the fact that for generations the crown to what was otherwise known as the Land of the Scots had passed from clan to clan, infighting carrying more weight than blood or loyalty. Fergus Dunbroch had been the first in a long time to grab the crown and hold on to it for so long. No doubt, it was whispered, thanks to the prowess of his shrewd wife. Queen Eleanor was notoriously educated for a Scotswoman, even a noble. So much so that there had been little surprise when news spread that she was homeschooling her daughter and sons herself. She was also an apt negotiator and diplomat, opening up trade routes from the Scottish Kingdom that had been neglected and plagued with piracy for many years, though Fergus had his own share in boosting their economy: Many neighbouring kingdoms had taken note of the tales of King Fergus fighting a great demon bear, and many travelled to Dunbroch's shores just to find out if they were true. It was mostly common folk, so far, but looking at Merida, Elsa had no doubt that foreign diplomats and nobility would be following suite in the years to come.

With an impressive whacking sound, Merida slapped her soaking wet garment on the stone and stood. Walking towards the fire, she smiled at Elsa, the youthfulness of her face as striking as the nasty scars Elsa suddenly noticed on Merida's right arm.

More gibberish words, but their meaning clearly warm, questioning, her gaze was directed at the bowl in Elsa's hands.

"It's... fine. Thank you." Elsa replied, hoping she'd guessed the meaning right from context. From Merida's beaming smile, the reply must have been satisfactory. Elsa frowned, unable to stop the question that followed from escaping her lips. "How old are you?"

The last time she'd heard any tales from the Dunbroch kingdom, it had been about how the heir to the throne had thwarted all her male suitors by shooting for her own hand and winning. Elsa remembered because while Anna had been telling their servants how she couldn't understand someone refusing to choose a suitor, Elsa had been absolutely perplexed that the Dunbrochs had organised such an event for a mere child of sixteen.

"I am eighteen." The princess's eyes were slanted, clearly full of ire at having to use Elsa's tongue while in a state of undress. She threw her wet clothes onto the wooden frame she'd constructed by the fire. Some of her Gaelic tongue followed, too rapidly for Elsa to follow, but she could sense some degree of empathy to the words. Seeing Elsa's puzzlement, Merida sighed. "How old are you?"

Elsa stopped, moments away from replying, realizing that she wasn't quite sure. Days had turned into weeks and then into months without her really keeping track. "What date is it?"

Stunned, the redhead let out a bark of laughter, before turning back to the pool and pulling off her top undergarment and bindings. "It's November the first, your coronation, same year."

"Then I am still twenty-one." Elsa replied simply, her eyes following the ripple in Merida's back muscles as she lowered herself into the pool. It was deeper than Elsa had anticipated, just as Merida was covered in a lot more scars than Elsa had thought likely for a person of such a young age. Eighteen: that was Anna's age. She gulped, her eyes watering at the thought of her sister, of the amount of time that had passed since they'd last spoke.

"Aaah..." That strongly accented dialect was back, obviously praising the warmth of the waters as Elsa felt frost crinkling beneath her. Merida dipped her head under, coming back up with her curls flattened, her hair darkened as those bright eyes turned towards the queen.

"Twenty-one..." Merida finally replied, amusement in her voice. "So young to be a... what's the word? ...Hermit!"

Though Merida's attempt at humour was not completely lost, Elsa was more rattled by her manner and appearance. Her appetite gone, Elsa swallowed. She put down her bowl, still half full, remembering suddenly what the smell of the crevice could be described as. Her mother had used the word once, long ago. It had given her father Agdar cause to giggle, earning him a slap on the arm from a disgruntled Idunn still carrying an unconscious Anna. It had taken Elsa many years to get the joke.

Curse this warrior princess for coming to Arendelle and not being like the others. If she'd been antagonistic like Prince Hans and his men, Elsa would have had no qualms about pushing her away, threatening her to keep her at bay. As it was, it was quickly becoming clear that while Merida had announced her intentions to end Elsa's winter curse, she had no intentions of doing so by force anytime soon. She was presenting herself as a would-be ally, a protector, and Elsa wouldn't have it. She needed to leave.

Images of young Anna, hair newly stained with white, plagued Elsa's mind.

But before she could leave, she needed some more questions answered.


	5. Aggravation

**5\. Aggravation.**

* * *

Snow was piled high on this slope of the mountain. It was hard to tell how powdery it was. Kristoff covered his eyes against the glare, hoping to see the telltale glistening of hard snow. There was some, but not enough. Thin little trails of crust would not hold the weight of reindeer and sleigh. He would have to dismount. Kristoff sighed. He had little taste for digging out his vehicle from what could be as much as six foot of snow. He really couldn't afford to take the risk.

His breath misted in front of him as he trudged through to the nearest pine tree. Sven's antlers played with frozen branches as he waited, still tied into the sleigh. Kristoff wanted to be able to make a quick getaway should the soldiers approach. The mountain was never the safest place to be in this season at the best of times. He was careful not to cry out when he went from being up to his knees to past his waist in the snow. An avalanche was certainly possible with this sort of accumulation. He clenched his jaw. Hopefully his protégée wouldn't be buried underneath all this.

Thankfully, he made it to the spot he had last seen the Scots woman at. A week ago he had helped her set up camp there, exchanged news and supplies, and shared the last of her whisky here. He smiled as he leaned against the standing stone near the tall trees. The small cliff face nearby seemed to have hidden the alcove from the worst of the snowfall. The fire had still been covered, but he could make out the shape of the pit. It was easier walking here.

There was no sign, however, of the bearskin wearing redhead. That didn't necessarily mean that bad things had happened. In the last few weeks she'd often been away foraging, hunting or scouting out the area for whatever quest had brought her to Arendelle in the first place. He tried not to pry. He frowned. He did have a vague inkling however. The less he pried, the less likely he'd need to decide upon where his loyalties lay.

As it was, it could wait. He dug out the small slab they'd agreed to leave a message on should one arrive at camp without the other there. It had shifted slightly, but the charcoal markings on its face could still be recognised.

Kristoff's eyes went wide. He had hoped to see the symbol they'd agreed upon for the young woman to use when on a food run. He would have been content to see the one referring to scouting activities, which usually took longer but still indicated that she was safe. He was relieved not to see the circle indicating that she should be there. That would have indicated that something had gone terribly wrong.

The big cross, however, was not a pleasant sight either.

"Darn it..." he muttered, planting the slab into the ground. Camp compromised, that's what that symbol stood for.

They'd planned for it, but he had hoped it would never be needed. He pulled his hat lower and turned back towards Sven. His reindeer companion flicked his ears towards him, clearly attentive to his worsening mood. Kristoff felt apologetic. He didn't mean to become such rotten company.

He was going to have to compose Sven another song.

"We're going home," he mouthed as he made his way back through the trench he'd made in the snow. His fingers made the accompanying gesture that had Sven leaping in delight. It would have been a delight shared had Kristoff not any concerns about the family's approach to... guests.

Trolls had expectations, you know. 

* * *

"How is An-..." A pause, a breath. "Why is it you are hiding in the mountains?"

Merida blinks. Having removed the last of her undergarments to wash as well, she'd been distracted reaching for the soap. The ice queen's question took her a bit by surprise. She frowned, sitting back against the edge of the pool. The water easily lapped at her chin as she sat on the bottom with room to stretch her legs.

"Ah... I..."

She remembered arriving in Arendelle's port, tired and grumpy from a long journey that had faced obstruction every step of the way. She'd been scouring the local inns, hoping to gain some information about the winter curse and the one who had caused it. She hadn't had much luck, the locals clearly finding it to be a sore topic and any sailors or foreigners who'd stayed used it as a topic to joke and make fun. Merida's own trouble with speaking the local tongue hadn't helped, though she had improved drastically in the space of a couple of days.

"I punched a man." She replied simply. At the end of the day, it was all there was to it. She wrung the cloth in her hands, tight. She could still feel the faintest trace of a bruise in her knuckles. "He was the bad man to punch." Or did one say wrong? She remembered the sound of his nose crunching. She'd aimed to make her one punch count. She kept her hands busy, water splashing pleasantly as she fought against the rage her memories stirred. "He... earned it."

She was half tempted to swap back to her native Gaelic and give the Snow Queen the full rant, a blow by blow description of the fight that had ensued, of her escape through town, iced over cobbles adding to the challenge as armed guards ran after her. How was she to know that that prick had been a cousin to Prince Hans? He should have known better than to insult her father to her face. Even if she hadn't introduced herself as such, the tartan sash she wore that had caused the man to sneer should have been a hint that she would take exception to his crude words.

It hadn't helped that he'd clearly been intimidating the bar's waitress, who didn't seem to have the option to get someone else to pour him his vile booze.

Feeling Elsa of Arendelle's gaze boring into her, she shrugged, blowing a strand of damp hair away from her face. She didn't have the vocabulary to do the tale justice in Elsa's tongue.  
"'Ere, catch!" She said in Gaelic, following it up with Elsa's word for it. Her recently wrung out undergarments were tossed towards her, landing satisfyingly near to Elsa's reach without falling into the food bowl. She grinned, continuing on in Gaelic. "Hang 'em up fur me, will ye? Th'sooner they dry, the better."

The glare she got in response was almost worth it. As much as she delighted in the rise she'd gotten out of the seemingly unflappable ice pixie queen, it did send a shiver down her spine to see. It was a stark reminder of how dangerous the woman was... Her sleeping face while Merida had been setting the fire had seemed so young. Merida had had trouble thinking of the beautiful woman as being anything but her age. Still, Elsa seemed to put two and two together and complied to Merida's request with some degree of muttering. Merida relaxed. It was a much more pleasant sight than the one she'd had last night, when the blonde had woken, terrified, casting her magic against her as though her life depended on it. She worried at her lip, recalling the incident. Pushing herself out of the pool, she reached for her fur cloak.

Mordu's pelt was far too thick for her to consider washing properly today. It would take all week to dry and she just couldn't afford to stay in one place that long. Still, she remembered that it had acquired a rather stubborn white mark after Elsa's attack yesterday, the one that had stung. Merida wondered if it had been some sort of super propelled snowball.

The fire crackled. A mud pool plopped and bubbled further down the crevice. Merida clenched her jaw. The white mark wasn't just encrusted. No amount of rubbing with her soap seemed to dislodge it. She frowned. If she didn't know better, she...

"Has Anna been made Queen?"

Merida yelped, not expecting to hear Elsa's voice coming from right next to her. She splashed away from the ledge, finding that the floor of the pool dipped. She had to push herself back through the water with her arms. By the time she'd settled herself back near the edge, she'd forgotten the question.

"Whit?"

"Anna, my sister... Was she made Queen after I left?"

The nature of the question bewildered Merida. It took her a moment to recall tales of Princess Anna, mentions of Elsa's sibling usually muttered with great worry. There'd been no talk of succession.

"She... Princess Anna is ill. Was ill since... The Great Freezing." She used the same phrase as the townspeople to refer to the sudden winter, but not the one used when referring to their Princess. 'At death's door' was not what you said to a relative when all you had to go on was hearsay. Her mum's lessons weren't all wasted. "It is Prince Hans who is regent now." And didn't Merida know it. It didn't seem that one could see any of Arendelle's guards without at least a Southern Isles soldier alongside.

Although Merida had tried to soften the blow, it clearly hit the Snow Queen hard, her face blanching even more than Merida thought possible.

"I-Ill you say?" The quiver in the queen's voice was heart-wrenching. This close to her, Merida could see Elsa's eyes glistening with rising tears. The blonde woman's hands shook as she pushed herself back up, away from the pool where she was kneeling. "How ill?"

Merida made to stand out of the water, nakedness be darned. Only she found that the minute she climbed onto the ledge the air in the hot spring cave turned nippy. She considered for a moment retreating back into the heated pool, only to clench her teeth and reach for her cloak. She wasn't going to let a cold breeze... Oh.

The puttering sound wasn't from the fire. The metallic sting in her nose wasn't from the sulphur. Her feet weren't slipping on the rock due only to their wetness. The cave that she had thought protected from the winter curse was now swirling with it, and within a few feet of her stood its nexus.

Hail fell on top of the fire, smothering it. She could taste the cold in the air and feel the frost burning the soles of her feet. Mordu's pelt did the best it could to keep her warm, but there was only so much it could do with her wet from her bath and against the blonde woman's unwitting magic.

It was clear to see that Elsa was barely even aware of the energies unleashed around her. Merida took in her crestfallen face, the shaking of her closed fists, and the guilt and fear that raged through her expressions.

"How. Ill?" The queen repeated. Her words were like ice. Merida stumbled, pulling her cloak closer.

"Ah... Ah dunno..." She replied in her native Gaelic, before realizing that the foreign words did little to reassure. Her heart thumped. She wished for nothing more than to grip the handle of her sword, but knew better. This was a situation her mum would know how to face. Elinor wouldn't be forgetting how to speak Norsk when it was very much required. "Je ne sais pas." No, no, no, Merida. Now was not the time to put those horrid French lessons to use. Finally, she managed to string together two words of the Arendelle Queen's tongue. "I don't... I don't know. I only heard. She does not go out the castle."

Merida hoped that helped. She didn't fancy her chances against another bolt of Elsa's magic, cloak or not. She reverted to her native tongue, babbling, she knew. "Look, why dinnae ye sit doon and eat sum more a'dem berries. Tak' a deep breath." She was careful to keep her body language unthreatening, like talking to a fierce bear, and her voice gentle.

Not that Elsa seemed to hear her. The magical maelstrom around her had stilled, ice and snow floating eerily in place. She seemed withdrawn, as if contemplating a great horror.  
"I ne-need... I need to go." The words were stuttered out rapidly, Elsa stepping back to beyond the now dead fire, head turning frantically, looking for an exit. Her hands were clasped together, held tightly to her chest. Merida was relieved to feel the ice underfoot retreating, the welcome warmth of the stone underfoot returning, but it didn't still the sense of unease in her gut.

"I'm sorry." The queen's apology was hoarsely whispered, it echoed along the walls. Elsa whipped her hands down. A platform of ice came into existence underneath her, lifting her up. It rose in a sloppy pile of snow and ice, faint pillar like shapes trying to emerge but faltering. The snow queen rose to the lip of the alcove above, the thin cape on her dress whipping out in the wind as she leapt off.

"Wait!" Merida cried out. She reached her hand out, fingers feeling terribly small and weak in the face of the extraordinary display she'd just seen. "Wait..." She faltered, falling to her knees. Her body shivered. Her fist fell to pound at the ground. "Darn it." Tears stung at her eyes. She had hoped that she was getting somewhere. She had hoped to be able to help the cursed waif. She had only wanted to get to know her better.

Part of her saw how much of a drawback this was when it came to breaking the winter curse, saving her people, both their peoples, from cold and starvation. The other part of her? She felt small. It was like that moment when Mordu had towered over her, eye gleaming with eldritch wrath. She hated feeling this powerless. Why did magic always have to make things so complicated?

Taking a deep breath, she raked through her bags for a small towel. Drying herself down, she searched for her spare undergarments and the ruined clothing she had kept from her initial escape into the mountains. She pulled a face at the holes, tears and burns in the cloth. They would have to suffice. Thankfully she'd already washed the worst stains out of it.

The tattered dress now covering her modesty, Merida kept Mor'du's hide tightly wrapped around her shoulders. She didn't quite know why she found it comforting. She felt like she needed what little comfort she could get. She scowled.

Queen Elsa's outburst had killed her fire. It would take ages to dry out the now damp wood and coals sufficiently to relight, let alone fast enough for her preferred clothes to get dry. She was going to have to see if Kristoff could buy her a new set.

He would only be able to do that if he could get in. Hissing, Merida saw that the icy platform that Elsa had left on was blocking the entrance. It was too slippery to climb safely, not with all her gear.

"That mauchit besom of a hag... Ah'm sae scunnered of this. Richt foutering eejit, that ah am fur thinking juist blethering would help." A steady stream of mutterings formed on her lips as she reached for her bags again, finding the buckle she had tied her amulet onto. More complaints spilled forth as she reached for her bow and strung it with some difficulty, the rapidly changing temperatures wrecking havoc with the bending of the wood. Once satisfied, she grabbed her quiver, frowning at how light it was.

Three arrows that was all she had left.

Well, she had better make the most of the first two. No way was she wasting the last one before Kristoff brought her more.

Merida deftly scraped the head of one arrow on the stone face of her amulet. The metal tip sparked, bursting into magical flame. She didn't like using the old witch of the hill's magical gift except as a last resort. It was stunningly effective, but as with all spells as far as Merida could tell, also dangerous and unpredictable.

She didn't wait long to knock and draw. She aimed at the ice and snow blockade first. She deliberated where to aim for the best result. After three breaths, she didn't waste any more thought on it. It wouldn't matter anyway. She closed her eyes.

The fire arrow flew swiftly into the pile, snow hissing as it sunk in deep. For a moment, Merida was afraid its magical flame had sizzled out without achieving her goal. She felt it take effect before she heard or glimpsed it. A rumble beneath her feet, a loud crackling noise and sudden brightness overcame the base of the obstacle. A ball of fire formed, flames licking away at the ice, red and gold climbing over blues and whites. Another burst of sound and heat spread from the conflagration before the fire petered out.

Well, that worked...  
Now satisfied that she had at least a tunnel leading back out of the alcove, she turned to the fire. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long before Kristoff checked her for her. He should have found her compromised camp sign by now. Thank goodness for fallbacks.

Meanwhile she was going to need to have a drastic rethink of her plans. 

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. Resolve

**6\. Resolve.**

* * *

Elsa only made it fifty feet before her legs gave way. The bright whiteness of the snow matched the white cover of sky as her knees collided with the powder, as her hands barely caught her as she collapsed. She shivered, her hair falling in loose strands over her face. Her braid had come undone.

She coughed and spluttered. Worry was making her stomach protest. One powerful cramp shot through her, and she rolled onto her side. Pain mingled with concern as Elsa's eyes scrunched shut.

Anna... Sick? The mere thought seemed so alien to her. All Elsa could think about was how her sister's ginger braids used to fly through the corridors. While Elsa grew up confining herself to her room at every opportunity, Anna had been filling the castle with life and noise. Whenever Elsa had collapsed into a corner to mope and nurse a headache born of stress, Anna's steps would hammer out a rhythm on the polished floors, voice humming a song that Elsa had longed to answer. Whenever things seemed to get a little too routine and humdrum, the colours of Elsa's experience slowly fading to grey as she struggled still to keep her powers in check, Anna would bring in a splash of astounding colour with such follies as riding a bicycle through the corridors.

Even when Anna had caught a cold by climbing onto the rooftops in cold weather, she didn't let it bring her down. She would trooper on, ignoring the snot running from her nose, her lopsided grin compensating for the feverish gleam to her eyes until Mama escorted her to a seat by the fire and a warm cup of cocoa.

Elsa had lost count of how often she'd been bedridden by fever or sickness growing up. Anna had always been the hale one. She just couldn't picture her being ill... The only image she could conjure up that would have Anna sick enough to not be able to stand in for Arendelle's missing queen was...

The memory of sulphur, rock and midnight horse rides: a tiny five year old carried in her mother's arms, a white mark that shouldn't be there marring her temple.

Guilt, powerful, potent, had Elsa curling up in the snow, wishing to disappear. Her frustration was growing though. Everything she did was to protect her sister. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. Anger coursed through her veins. She had no doubt she was to blame for Anna's current condition. Whenever something bad befell her, it was always Elsa's fault. She was the eldest. It was her job to look after her, and she had failed.

Elsa made a sound with her throat, a low keening. Her hands scrunched up into fists, and she thought of the red haired woman she had just left in the crevice, the Scottish princess. She envied her. Opening her eyes, Elsa pushed herself up into a sitting position, bright dots swimming in her vision.

Merida of Dunbroch was strong. It was clear to see. She was determined. She had to be, to be living out in the mountains of a nation that was not her own, evading its soldiers, feeding off the land. That was tenacity. No protocol or archaic rule was going to hold her back.

Well, Elsa was done holding herself back.

She had thought exiling herself to the North Mountain would be enough to give her the freedom to be herself while keeping others safe. She'd been wrong.

Slowly, she got back up on her feet. Her legs wobbled a little, she was still weak. The shock of learning of Anna's condition had undone a lot of the good from Merida's blind compassion. She could feel a fever coming on. Whatever ailed her sister, Elsa would gladly suffer in her place, but she doubted the fates would be so kind. She hobbled up the slope, one step at a time, clasping for the cloak she had left behind. Her hand gripped her arm. She didn't need that cloak anymore anyway.

Elsa needed a plan. She couldn't think straight enough to form one, but she could feel intentions cementing themselves in her soul. Her goal was clear, she needed to see Anna. The need was visceral, like an animalistic instinct, a drive similar to hunger. Still, Elsa knew she would need some caution. Her Ice Palace... She would go there and draw up a plan. That was what she would do.

She stumbled again, her mind having wandered enough that she hadn't seen the divot in the snow. This time, she caught herself before falling. She paused, took a breath, and then heard a distinctive rumble.

A large clump of snow was ambling down the slope towards her, its steps making the trees shake, their green pines shedding some of their snow as it passed. It took her a moment to recognise, and then she smiled.

"Marshmallow..." She whispered, seeing the giant creation made from snow and ice came to kneel next to her. It smiled with its eye sockets wide as its icy spikes retracted further. It opened out its arms in a happy, welcoming gesture. Clearly she had worried her protector.

Elsa went to step further, only to trip again. Her head was thumping. She couldn't go on. Not just yet.

Thankfully, Marshmallow could sense this, simply picking Elsa up in its large arms.  
"I got you..." The ice golem spoke, its voice a rumble, a memory, a feeling.

"Thanks." Elsa breathed. Resting against Marshmallow's chest, she allowed it to carry her back to her ice palace. Her head was spinning. She had lost count of how many times Marshmallow had come to find her like this.

Hopefully this would be the last time.

As he drove the sleigh back down the slopes, Kristoff had kept an eye out for the soldiers. Sure thing, they were scaling the mountain. Even more noticeably, they were headed for the snowed under encampment he had just left. He swore. There was little he could do to hide the tracks his sleigh left behind, not enough snowfall for that, unfortunately. He groaned as he realised he'd been wishing for snowfall as he travelled. That would have just made things harder. With a reluctant sigh, he diverted from his intended path, though he upped the pace. The longer he took getting to his protégée, the more at risk they'd both be from the soldiers, whatever their mission.

Thankfully, Oaken's trading post was not that far away. His sleigh wouldn't look that suspicious there, could possibly be perceived as that of a mere traveller who would have no idea about the significance of the sight he'd passed by... If he hadn't ploughed a great big conspicuous trench into the camp: Oh well...

"Sven, I am not doing great today..." He muttered as they pulled up by the store. It wasn't even breakfast time for most folk.

The reindeer, sensing Kristoff's frustrations, just nodded and waited for Kristoff to untie him. He paused, but shook his head. Oaken was most definitely not the best person to ask about the note in his purse... Not with the soldiers running about. His mind made up, Kristoff waved at Oaken as he turned the store sign around before trotting off on Sven's back, into the trees. Reindeer tracks were a lot less conspicuous than sleigh tracks.

Sadly, the diversion meant that the entrance he had shown the Scottish Woman was not the most practical to get to. He could aim for the top of the grotto, or...

"Yep, definitely time to go see the folks..." He muttered grimly. Not that he minded seeing them, but... Well, the trolls didn't tend to be in a hurry to let him rush back out into the world whenever he visited them, and he had a feeling Princess Anna's note was urgent.

Merida shot a glare at the purple cloak lying next to her.

"Ach! Owe." She hissed, sucking on the end of the afflicted finger. Thankfully the needle hadn't drawn blood... yet. No amount of lessons from her mother had taught her how to avoid getting pricked by the needle while mending her clothes. To be honest, she only ever opted to do it as a last resort. She sighed, putting the sash she had been mending, badly, back onto her lap as she thought once more of home.

She missed it. She missed her mother, nagging and all. She missed play fighting with her father, chasing after the triplets in a game of tag; she missed her house, the servants, the cooks... Hell, she even missed those obnoxious lords and their ragtag sons.

Maybe she should just head home. Who knew what news she had missed out on in the weeks, months it had taken her to get here. The image of the snow queen's desperate plea for news of her sister came to mind, unbidden, unwelcome... but oh so powerful. Merida fought back her tears. She knew full well that had someone delivered the news to her that her mother was sick, seriously so, she would have reacted the same.

No. She couldn't head back. Not without stopping winter. Not without...

"How does one save a hag from herself?" Merida sighed. That was the crux of it. Whatever had caused Queen Elsa to unleash this curse across the lands? She had also unleashed on herself. Frustrated, she stood and reached for her sword. A couple of swings would help her still her nerves, come up with an idea.

Cold metal scythed through cold air, the blade singing as she went through the motions. Parry, thrust, dodge: the forms came naturally to her, warming the blood in her veins, honing her mind. The weight in her hands kept her grounded. The ground under her feet was fleeting. The dizzying motions kept her thoughts away from her surroundings, focussed on the problem in mind and the exercise at hand. Maybe if she imagined some sort of snow monster...

And then she paused. It had been instantly clear that conflict and confrontation wasn't the key to breaking the curse. Maybe...

Merida glanced back at the purple cloak Queen Elsa had left behind, forgotten or discarded, she couldn't tell. She looked to the pillar of sloppy snow and ice, its form clunky and inelegant, even without the large hole Merida had punched through it. She recalled the icy stairway Elsa had summoned as they made their way to this hideout, its startling elegance, the ornate curls of the handrail, the attention to detail and symmetry in the slats that served as stairs. She frowned, stepping towards the cloak and reaching down to pick it up.

As expected, when she pulled off her glove and ran her fingers over the material, it was clear the cloak too was made of ice. It was hard to tell how, but it was cold to the touch but dry, Merida's fingertips sliding over it as though it were silk. It shimmered, intricate patterns of various snowflake designs appearing all over. Even the clasp at the top was made of ice, a deep purple colour making it seem like painted metal but not quite hiding the gentle see through quality of its material.

Looking once more to the accumulation of ice above her, Merida stepped closer just to confirm her theory.

Large chunks of ice greeted her, their shape fluid and ungainly. There was no grand design or artistry here. Merida had little doubt as to why.

If mention of her sister's illness had caused the snow queen's magic to become sloppy and uncontrolled, then maybe, just maybe...

Returning her sword to its scabbard, Merida started packing up her things. It was time for her to pay Princess Anna a visit.

* * *

For all his grumping and reluctance to visit his folk, it was actually good to see the trolls again. Sven happily trotted along as they showered him with questions and affection, the little ones jumping onto his back without warning. It made him realise how long it had been since he'd last lifted a heavy block of ice. He missed ice harvesting. Every now and then he would go and harvest a good chunk, bring it back to the cave or shed nearest that he could use as a storeroom for until the winter finally passed, if ever, but... His stores were full, and it didn't feel right to be plucking ice from its home in the mountain lakes if there was no one to sell it on to, that they too might appreciate its beauty. Thankfully, the babble from the trolls helped steer his mind away from these melancholy thoughts. What was harder to do was to steer them away from following him as he made for his old quarters at the back of the quarry. He rather they found out he had a girl there after she was leaving than before.

"Come on, Bulda, I have things to do and places to be!" He couldn't help the chuckle in his voice as she covered him in the latest moss cape she had fashioned him. "You can cover me in grass and flowers next time."

"And when will that be, young man? I say, it has been months since you last visited us. You look weary and tired. Isn't it time you gave yourself a holiday?"

"Three weeks hardly counts as months," he grumbled.

Bulda pretended not to hear him, but she relented upon seeing him determinedly pulling off the cape and heading towards the crevice that had been his teenage refuge. "Fine, Kristoff, I'll leave you be, but there better be a sweetheart involved to make this worth your while."

He rolled his eyes but gave her a smile and a wave as she rolled away back to mind the little ones who were playing. It was sweet how the trolls were always so keen to have him find love, but he was in no hurry. It would happen when it happened...

His mind recalled the last he saw of Princess Anna, still covered in blankets, sat in her castle looking frail and sick. Sometimes, when she laughed or got that glint in her eye, he...

Shaking his head, he walked out of the light into the shadow of his crevice. He had to paw his way around a little, stepping sideways when his shoulders were too broad, leaving Sven behind to wait. This wasn't the easiest way in, but by far the most secure. Kristoff just hoped that everything had played out for the best and that his protégée would be there. If he were to find the alcove empty...

"Whoah..."

Speechless. He was speechless.

"Ah, thar ye are, finally!" He heard her voice, Gaelic words making sense enough that he understood the reason for her exasperated sigh. "Come oan, we need tae go see Princess Anna."

"Wait, what?" Now that got his attention. Tearing his eyes away from the stunning formation of ice and snow that had somehow made its way into the closest thing he'd ever had to home, impossible by the way, Kristoff found the lip of the ledge he was on and glared down at the Scotswoman down below. He called upon his approximation of business Gaelic to ask her, "whit did ye say?"

She began a full throttled explanation, Gaelic words forming such a rapid chain that Kristoff was soon lost. He thought he caught the odd word: soldiers, snow, witch... but it didn't make sense. Maybe it would be easier if he climbed down the ledge.

"Slow down," he interrupted in Norsk, feet landing heavily on the same level as her. "Tell me in my tongue. My Gaelic isn't all that good."

Now that he could see her properly, he noticed that she was wearing the ruined clothes she'd had on when he'd first met her. Clumsy stitches had patched together some of the bigger rips, but it still looked like she'd been in a fight. He watched as she rolled her eyes, muttering some foreign expletive or oath as she hoisted her bag on her shoulder. He could make out a bundle of half-dried clothing tied onto the top, and a flash of something purple and shimmery.

"Listen, I find what I was looking for," she made a hand gesture indicating the icy formation that still bewildered Kristoff. Was that a perfectly spherical hole inside it? Darn. Merida stepped up to him, her curls forming a dark frame around her face. "I must see Princess Anna next."

"Right..." He drawled. "That's what I thought you said. I need a seat."

Kristoff sat heavily on a nearby boulder; fairly certain it wasn't one of his cousins sneaking in despite his many warnings. He rubbed his chin in frustration, watching as Merida glanced at the ledge he appeared on and then at the door punched through the ice.

"How do you get in?" She asked pointing at the entrance he'd shown her briefly that time before. "You said that was... only door."

He smirked. "It's the only door worth knowing." He pointed at the ledge. "That path is... a lot more tricky, but it's the path we'll be leaving by. The mountainside is crawling with soldiers."

"It is?" He thought he saw a flash of worry on the redhead's face, but she soon retrieved her more business-like scowl. "Okay, so Princess Anna..."

He sighed, ruffling his hair as he contemplated the task ahead. If he could manage to get this Merida to meet Anna, a big if, it might solve a couple of problems for him. That said there were wanted posters of his protégée all over the kingdom, let alone the town.

She was glaring at him, her arms crossed, her boot tapping a rhythm on the stone floor. Well, her impatience certainly made him feel less bad about what he was away to suggest next.

"Right... I think we can just about manage this," Kristoff smirked upon noticing the burnt remains of her fire. That would do nicely. "We're going to need to get you some new clothes and do something about your hair."

"Mah hair?" He tried not to chuckle as her hands flew up to her roots in a defensive manner.

"Do not worry, we're not going to be chopping it off, or anything like that." He stood and stepped over to the fire, picking up a promising looking piece of charred wood. "We just need to mask its colour for a while."

The main distinctive traits noted on the wanted posters had been her red hair, bearskin cloak and Scottish tartans, alongside a rather unconvincing drawing. He was sure that Bulda would be more than happy to lend her some grass clothing until they could get to Oaken's.

"No, no no no, no no..." Merida was stepping away from him, wagging her finger and shaking her head. Some more mutterings followed forth in her native Gaelic, something about just getting something washed? He stood still, holding the charcoal up high.

"Look, do you want to see Princess Anna, yes or no?" He raised a brow at her. If Sven had managed to squeeze through as he sometimes could when his antlers were shed, he would have been sure to pipe up with a comment from him. As it was he just let the silence hang, waiting for the foreigner's response.

"Rah, fine. Yes. I do it." The scowl on her face made it clear just how unhappy she was at the prospect. "Is there anything else?"

"Now that you mention it..." With his clean hand, he reached for the paper in his pocket. "How's your reading? I'm not much good unless it's runes."

Puzzled, Merida reached for the paper.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

(Posting this now because I'm tired of waiting until internet is installed in my new home. Going to be a couple weeks yet. :P Blame any formatting errors on this on it being posted through my phone. Any feedback would be delightful!)


	7. Cold Town

**7\. Cold Town**

Merida scowled ferociously at the road around them. They had made it off the mountain, just, but that was not going to stop her from being very unhappy about what was involved. Kristoff glanced her way and rolled his eyes, pulling her hood ever so slightly down over her forehead, much to her irritation. It felt like she was sixteen again, having someone fussing over and dictating what she wore. She hated it.

Unfortunately, unlike her mother who'd concerned herself with emulating what had been the fashion back when she was first sixteen, Kristoff had a good reason for making her look older than her years. Dark smudges under her eyes helped to make her look ancient, whereas the black to discoloured streaking in her hair made it look like it was threatening to go white or she was really in need of a wash.

Oh, Boab halp her, she really wanted a wash.

She'd been all up for fighting her way down the slopes, subtlety be darned. But when, after being forcibly cowed into the awful grass skirts by Kristoff's terrifying family, she trudged up the slope with Kristoff and his reindeer friend to find his sleigh, Merida found she was glad of the disguise. They encountered an unusually large contingent of soldiers, their numbers noticeably led by an officer from the southern isles. They swarmed the store Kristoff had left his sleigh at, its owner looking increasingly concerned as they badgered him about the Snow Queen and her whereabouts, going as far as to accuse him of harbouring a traitor to the realm.

"Now look here..." The man had said, he rose to his full height just as Kristoff and Merida peered cautiously through the window pane. She had to hand it to him, the owner, Oaken was it, had a gift. There were not many who could make a large group of armed men look intimidated while merely standing. Neither of her parents could manage it without either physical threats or raised voices... Not that her mother ever needed to raise her voice as loud as her father.

One of the younger looking soldiers was soon flung out of the door. The rest of his companions ran out after him as quickly as they could. Kristoff and Merida, stunned by the rapid development, plastered themselves against the wall and tried to make themselves small.

"Owe..." She nearly felt sorry for the lout, but his commander was clearly making a show of angering the shop owner further. She couldn't quite grasp what was said in the flow of angry words, but she was certainly relieved to see the lot of them turn back to what passed for a path if not a road in this weather.

A couple of the stragglers however stopped to look at them. For a moment, she saw one squinting hard at her face, and she recalled the posters Kristoff mentioned, the ominous wording in the note she had read...

"Hey, ice-boy, who's that old crow with you?"

Merida bristled, her hand instinctively reaching for the pommel of her sword, only stopped by Kristoff.

"This... Is my mother." Merida could have stabbed _him_ then, but the cackling laughter of the two soldiers was soon cut short as their commander rounded them up. She got a good look at him as he strode up to them, his features eerily familiar. If the nose had been just a little bit more crooked, she could've sworn...

"Come on, men. Stop bothering the peasants."

And with that they went. Merida's heart slowed to a more natural beat as Kristoff apologised and led her into the store. The owner still looked furious, but quickly resumed his best polished customer service. She was very tempted to take him up on the offer of a free Sauna session to make up for the spectacle they had arrived to, but sadly Kristoff quickly dragged her back out, her new frock under his arm before she could even make her case.

She did have to give it to him, the frock was a big improvement on her damp or damaged rags, and certainly a billion times better than the itchy grass coverings that, erm, troll had foisted upon her, singing songs about hidden love and what a handsome boy her son was. Merida... felt embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Her natural reaction to seeing a bunch of rocks roll towards her with intent and then build up into vaguely humanoid shapes? Well, let's just say she was glad the witch only let her keep the one amulet from her ordeals back in Scotland, or Kristoff may well have been an orphan twice over... And the stone folk had been incredibly sweet, if loud and heavy, and certainly harmless compared to the monstrosities she'd fought back home.

Trolls in Arendelle were certainly a lot more pleasant than the stone monsters of Scotland.

Reaching up to pull out a lock of hair from under the hood, she felt the softness of its icy material, the smooth silkiness of it stunningly effective at keeping her warm. She hadn't even thought of wearing the cloak Elsa had forgotten as part of her disguise until Kristoff deftly lifted it from her bag, admiring the beauty of it as he asked her where she found it. She hadn't even the time to answer when he insisted more than suggested that she put it on. It was certainly a lot less conspicuous than her bearskin cloak would have been. The two had passed many an Arendellian subject wearing similarly smooth cloaks of various bright colours, though theirs still seemed to be made of wool. Seeing now the numerous Wanted Posters describing her as they finally made their way into the town, she was glad for the disguise, even as she itched for the feel of her sword, the comfort of her bow, the weight of Mor'du to be back on her shoulders. She would begrudge Kristoff for forcing her to put all her belongings in the back of the sleigh, but he did bring her a fresh quiver full of arrows and some much-appreciated supplies. She hated to think what it must have cost him, considering his trade of choice, ice harvesting, was not exactly that profitable right now.

Her stomach growled as Kristoff pulled the reins, getting Sven to stop in his tracks and turn into a small stable.

"Eh? This ain't tha castle," Merida complained loudly, Kristoff shushing her more for her use of the Gaelic tongue than fear of being spotted. She continued regardless, secretly delighting in Kristoff's dramatic face palm at her stubbornness. "Ah thought we were going straight thar."

"Ye're the one that read tha note..." Kristoff ground out in his approximate Gaelic. "Ye tell me."

Merida rolled her eyes. It took her a moment to recall the contents of the note. She had read it out loud, haltingly, mispronouncing some of the words until Kristoff could guess what they were supposed to be. In turn he had explained what the ones she couldn't understand meant with use of stick figure drawings and hand gestures, not having the required vocabulary in Gaelic. Merida spoke the words once more in Norsk, since that would avoid confusion.

"Dear Kristoff,  
it has recently come to my attention that a woman from Scotland is being sought in our land. Information gathered leads me to believe she has information I require. If it is at all possible for you to seek out her whereabouts and bring her to me, that would be most gratefully appreciated. I am willing to lift the search warrant out for her should she be willing to meet with me. Please update me on the earliest convenient day, at the usual hour and place. I fear she may be in danger should we leave this too long.  
With many thanks,  
Anna."

"The usual hour and place being the servants entrance to the castle's east wing, just after seventh bell." Kristoff hissed, his voice still low, as though he feared being overheard. "It's only just nearing three."

"Aye, fine, whitever. Ah still cannae believe she juist signed that Anna. Nae even Of Arendelle. Me mam would hae a fit." Merida chortled, imagining Elinor's face. Kristoff just facepalmed at her swift return to her mother tongue. She couldn't see why it mattered. They were in a stable, it wasn't like people were just going to come in and...

"Oye, Bjorgman!"

Merida just about jumped out of her skin. She turned to see a broad-shouldered man, wearing the fancy Norse clothing the towns people here seemed to favour: trousers far too tight, tucked into their socks and pulled up well over the navel, his top covered by a waistcoat with far too many buttons... He had a dark beard and, from what she could make out under his black hat, he didn't look happy.

Kristoff grimaced.  
"Ah, mister Hagen, sir, good to see you." He pulled his hat off and dismounted from the sled. Mister Hagen stood at the door, leaning against the door frame, a proprietary look in his eye. Somehow Merida got a feeling she knew where this was going.

"Our agreement, Bjorgman, was for one night a week. Not two, not three..." Mister Hagen rubbed his gloved fingers together in the universal sign for payment. "You owe me some money."

"Oh, sure... Let me just..." Kristoff turned back to the sleigh, rummaging in the bags for a coin purse. He glared at Merida, mouthing the words 'dinnae get any ideas' to her before returning to negotiate with the man who obviously owned the stable. She glanced at Sven the reindeer, half expecting him to make some sort of remark. Sven rolled his eyes. Merida shrugged.

The owner was clearly not a friendly sort, ranting at Kristoff about the cost of this and that. Merida watched, bemused, but not still. Kristoff's comment to her had certainly given her some idea of what she would rather be doing. With a smirk, she signalled for Sven to stay quiet as she snuck towards the side door.

By the time Kristoff had appeased Mister Hagen and turned back around, muttering to himself about how much he hated people sometimes, she was gone.

* * *

The air was still, sharp. Elsa's eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the bright ice surrounding her. She was still cradled in Marshmallow's large arms, the snow golem sat against the wall, seemingly dozing too. She glanced towards the balcony, spied the darkening sky outside. It felt like another day wasted. Melancholy pulled at her heart strings as she tried to remember yesterday, today, what had occurred...

She sat bolt upright as she recalled the foreign princess, Merida, the soldiers, the news that Anna... Anna was...

Her head spun, she had sat up too quickly.  
"Darn it..." She muttered, frowning, holding her hand against her forehead.

She felt a burning in her chest, a desire... Yes, she remembered now. She needed a plan. Sat there in her snow golem's arms, it occurred to her that she needn't make it overly complicated. She smirked, though her brows were still stuck in a scowl.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in. Sharp, clean air, odourless but for the tang of her ice, dove deeply into her lungs. She reached into her heart, feeling for the spark, the anger that was born there after hearing of her sibling's illness. This was not an emotion she could ignore. It would not be bottled up.

Elsa gasped. It hurt, but she had it. The feeling, the drive, it was hers. She fixed it in her mind, and opened her eyes. In the wall before her, she could see how starkly they shone, the hue of her ice palace's partitions having darkened to match the midnight hues outside. She examined her reflection, deciding quickly that her sky-blue crystals, her open dress were not the look she was aiming for.

She ignored how thin she looked as she spun her arms around, tried not to dwell on how pronounced her ribs were as her magic unravelled her dress at her command. Not wanting to see herself uncovered, she surrounded herself with blizzard, hiding the reflective surface from sight. Behind her, Marshmallow stirred, but otherwise stayed still. She could sense her creation's watchful eyes on her. Well, she might as well give the snow golem something to look at, shouldn't she?

With slow, deliberate swings, she fashioned herself a new dress. Dark, austere. She made the ice thicker this time, like velvet. No slit on the leg this time, no. Instead beads of ice shaped like teardrops came to pattern her top, the hems: little stars in the darkest of nights. The blizzard lessened, so that she might contemplate her work. Her breath hitched. The reflection was a little hazy, but she was taken back to that dreadful day, the one when Anna had last knocked at her door. This would not do. Elsa... Elsa didn't want to look like she was in mourning, she...

She remembered the pain in Anna's voice that day. The broken quality of it as she asked after Elsa, begged for her sister, and wept. Elsa had wept too that day, quietly, huddled in a ball, keen to not let her voice be heard.

Elsa was done being quiet. She was done crying. No more tears. She had promised herself on that day in July, when she had thrown away her crown. Apparently, despite all that, she still held the title of queen. Maybe it was time she reminded people.

Her eyes looked a little red as she lifted her hands to the sky, but they stayed dry as her magic erupted once more. Along her shoulders, across her back, it spun. White crystals churned out long strands of fluff, forming a royal collar of ermine-like fur. A cloak, long and heavy, draped down behind her. She reached up to her head, pulling at some of the loose strands of her hear, pushing them up, encasing them in dark ice to match her dress. What was a queen without her crown?

There, she thought, admiring the finished product. Now I'll show them what the Queen of Ice and Snow can do.

Behind her, Marshmallow made a strangled noise, uncertain how to react. Elsa paid no heed to its echo in her chest, to how cold and heavy her heart felt. She marched down the stairs to her door, hand against railing keeping her upright as Marshmallow, confused, followed.

She stepped outside, the freshly fallen night matching her new outfit.

On the slope below, she could hear the faint sound of marching. She grinned.

* * *

"Oh halp me boab," Merida moaned, her voice a whisper. "Oh how ah missed these!"

Her teeth crunched on the flesh of the apple in her hand. Its juices, meagre but present, coated her tongue in the most longed-for flavours. Its flesh, bruised and damaged by cold, was still a welcome texture as she chewed, an ecstatic smile on her face.

The fruit had cost her a lot more than she would have liked, but considering the circumstances, she wasn't going to begrudge the merchants the dramatic mark-up... even if it would normally have been the time of year where apples were aplenty. It felt good to be back in town, amongst people, even if it was in a disguise that made her feel like a miser, and people looked at her coin with great suspicion. One advantage of her having to hide out in the mountains was that she had no opportunity to spend the last of her travel money. Kristoff had refused it, asking for pelts instead. To avoid suspicion, he'd explained. Merida had left it at that. Which meant that now, she had options.

She adjusted her hold on the paper bag full of bread and fruit, her first purchase in weeks, pulled her hood down a little as she rounded a corner with soldiers chatting, and made her way to what looked like the appropriate clothing store she had in mind.

"Richt... Lessee... Whit's that ghastly thing called again?" She muttered to herself as she discarded her apple core into the harbour. She heard it thunk against the ice below. "Eck, ah cannae believe ah'm seeking out a darn wimple. Ghastly thing."

Merida was never ever going to mention it to her mother. Elinor had fought tooth and nail to get Merida wearing the blasted thing when she was sixteen, and Merida had made a point that she was never ever wearing one again... but if it meant she could wash the gritty charcoal out of her hair, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

The purchase itself? Well...  
Nothing could have prepared her for the gruelling exercise of trying to explain to the shop clerk what she was after, what it was, and no, not a shawl, not a bonnet, not even a veil. Her Norsk was halting, clumsy and slow. The clerk's speech was rapid, their vocabulary too concise for Merida's weak mastery of the tongue. She had to force herself not to use Gaelic words, not to just repeat herself slower and louder. When at long last the clerk pulled out of a drawer in the back a suitable looking item, Merida nearly offered up a prayer to the god of the church she'd been pointing at through the window. Apparently only nuns even considered wearing these torturous items in this country. Gee, thanks, mother...

So with a quick drop of silver coin... and then the same again when the clerk gave her a raised brow and a hand gesture that clearly indicated that nuns here were willing to pay far too much for a ghastly head glove, Merida pre-emptively squirmed out of a fitting session and back out onto the streets outside. She hastily pulled up her hood once more, glad that the lighting inside the shop had been dim, and set about looking for the way back.

"Yeesh, a' tha streets look tha same." Merida frowned. She normally had such a good sense of orientation. Icy cobbles passed underfoot as she turned around the corner of another row of houses; their identically carved roof edges, normally beautifully painted, were encrusted in ice and snow so thick it was hard to tell them apart. Frustrated when retracing her steps led her once more to the stall she'd found the bread at, but no closer to the actual stable, she decided to take a detour towards the most obvious landmark and find her way from there... The stable had to be near the castle, after all, if she had understood Kristoff correctly... Or at least it would be on the road from the castle that led into the mountains.

Her euphoria at being able to explore the town of Arendelle faded, leaving in its place a dull lethargy and home sickness she couldn't quite fathom. The city hadn't changed since her exile into its mountains. It still had the same eerie feel about it that had welcomed her over a month ago. With its mostly empty streets, the few inhabitants that dared to go out were grumpy and wrapped up warm, prone to arguing with one another over the correct making of a log fire or glancing sadly up at the seat of power. When she first arrived, Merida had assumed the prickling feeling along her spine had been from getting closer to the source of the winter curse. Now she sensed that it was something else.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed one of the townspeople pulling a guard aside, pointing a finger in her direction. Merida frowned, glancing down at herself. Crumbs. A strand of her hair had spilled out of her hood, and had noticeably shed most of its coal covering. Remembering all her training as a huntress, she made sure to keep the gesture slow and calm as she adjusted the incriminating piece of hair back under her garment, slowly lengthening her stride so that she might reach a suitable blackspot to lose any followers from. Thankfully, she didn't hear any shouts of alarm, though it did sound like the guard was walking in her direction, the clinking of his sword belt drawing nearer.

Merida's hand itched for the bow she didn't have.

Instead, she deftly and quietly hefted herself up on the nearest windowsill, dropped her parcel in the empty flower basket, and used both hands to climb up the drain pipe and plaster herself down on the top of the roof. The snow beneath her felt damp, slightly melted by the warmth seeping through the tiles. She held her breath.

After the count of ten, she saw the guard pass below, scratching his chin. He glanced left. He looked right. He shrugged and then turned back. Merida held her breath ten more seconds before releasing it in a wary sigh. How she had not caught cold yet, she did not know, but was infinitely grateful. Just as she was thankful that none of the snow had fallen off the roof under her weight. She shifted, keen to get back down and off the blasted coldness of it, and a large patch slid off the roof to land below with a wet thud. She cringed. And then blinked.

Looking across the street, she could have sworn... Her eyebrows raised. She shook her head. Merida smiled. Well, that was nice to see. Someone out there had thought to make a snowman. It was small and lumpy, with coals for eyes and buttons. A line was carved into it for the mouth, an indentation made for some prominent front teeth, and a couple of twigs had been shoved in to signify hair and arms. Merida chuckled, swinging down from the eaves to retrieve her shopping on the way back down to the ground. A moment ago she could have sworn it had moved, but now she was moved.

In the months since the wintry storm had interrupted their annual summer festivities, the Princess of Dunbroch had not seen a single snowman built. In her native land the unnatural weather had summoned forth fey creatures and supernatural monsters, forcing mothers to keep their young children inside, much to the dismay of her younger brothers. In Arendelle she could only surmise that the suddenness of it had left people too uneasy; with the politically tense situation, the southern isles soldiers milling about, the Prince ordering paranoid spot checks, and the apparent demise of their ruling family, the frightened silence of the town all made sense now.

"Hello, Man of Snow." Merida said, smirking as she crossed the street. She made sure to speak Norsk, her recent close encounter making her wary of being overheard by some unseen party. She kneeled next to the snow sculpture, frowning as she noticed that the Snowman's mouth was drooping. She'd thought it had been smiling earlier. She leaned in and gave it a hug. Even a sad snowman was enough to give her hope. Maybe her brothers had made one similar back home, chittering between themselves about how it might never melt. She shook her head, missing the hugs the triplets would give her. She had work to do if she wanted to get back home. Still, it didn't feel right to leave the lonely snowman without saying something more. She leaned back on her haunches, tilting her head, observing it abstractly. "Smile. Spring is... not here yet."

Oops, maybe her hug had dislodged him somehow. She adjusted the snowman's torso with her hands, before her gaze caught on something glinting in the distance behind it. She forgot herself a moment, Gaelic spilling forth in a whisper.

"Whit's that?" She wondered, standing to go and inquire. Stepping around the snowy creation, she walked down the narrow alleyway, hairs rising on the back of her neck. She adjusted the hood of the ice cloak, frowning. The wall she was walking alongside now, it... Ah, yes, it was the harbour wall nearest the castle, leading around to the public square at its entrance. Guards stood shivering at the mouth of the bridge leading to the gates. The square itself was mostly empty, maybe one or two citizens staring out forlornly over the frozen waters of the harbour, the ice-breaker ships used to bring in soldiers from the southern isles ugly protrusions among the marooned ships around them. Gingerly, Merida hopped down the ledge separating her alleyway from the road winding towards the square. The glint that had caught her eye... It... It couldn't be, could it?

It was. She stopped at the outer edge of the square, hugging the stairway of one of the more imposing buildings surrounding it. They had an ice sculpture of a man, stood in such a way that no one heading to the castle could miss it. Was this some vanity project of the Southern Isles Prince who was currently regent? But no, there was nothing regal about this statue. The man was depicted in a pose of suffering, back arched, fists clenched, crying out to the sky. His feet were bare, toes curling into the podium on which he stood. Ornate white shapes covered the blue sheen of the ice, intricate patterns of snowflakes, all various sizes. The artist surely knew how to summarise the harshness of the snow queen's winter curse. It was chilling.

A hand landed on her shoulder. Panic seized her, her arms whirling around in the blink of an eye. She barely heard the words uttered before her fist connected with the jaw of the man behind her. She couldn't make sense of them as she grabbed the front of their coat, ready to deliver another punch. In that moment, instinct took over, only for her to pause, recognising the person wavering in her hold.

Kristoff Bjorgman let loose an impressive sounding curse as Merida rapidly let go.  
"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry...!" The apologies spilled forth, a frantic cadence of the Gaelic word, followed by a swear of her own. "Shite, man. Dinnae scare me lik' that."

"Merida..." He hissed, grabbing her shoulders to calm her down. The statue, she reflected, had really unsettled her. She could hear bells ringing: one toll, two, and then three. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting us... food?" She shrugged, offering up her shopping package. Her hood slipped back. Rapidly, she caught it with her spare hand. She decided to emulate Kristoff's phrasing, weakly pointing to the square behind her. "What... the hell... is the statue?"

Grumpy, Kristoff peered over her shoulder, his eyes taking on the dull sheen of sorrow, the angry clench of his jaw slackening. He looked away before answering, his gaze dropping to the ground, but his hands not slackening in the hold of her shoulders.

"That..." Kristoff said softly, "is no statue. That's the man that the Snow Queen killed."

"Wha?" Merida breathed. Her head snapped back around. Surely that can't have been an actual man. The statue was pure ice, through and through. She could swear it was made from the ice that formed in running streams on the coldest nights, deep magical blue. But looking at it again, Merida could tell that the details were too uncanny, too many, for this to have been manufactured. Her heart sunk. "It cannae..."

She thought back to the frail woman on the mountain, the fae-like beauty that struggled to eat a bowl of nuts. Her hand went to her chest, remembering the blow that Elsa of Arendelle had landed on her. She remembered the fear, the recognition full of dread in the Snow Queen's eyes. She had known then what she had done. She had known that... that...

A flutter of fear and regret had Merida gritting her teeth. She breathed in, taking deep sharp air into her lungs, before letting it back out in a deep sigh.

"Prince Hans had the poor sod put on display there as a warning to the people of how dangerous our Queen has become. Disrespectful to the dead man if you ask me..." Kristoff said quietly, rubbing at his jaw. It was sure to bruise. Merida felt small. It felt like she couldn't do anything right today. "Come on, let's go back to the stables. We'll talk more there."

The wind rose as they began their trudge back. The sky, already darkening with the imminent arrival of dusk, darkened further as dark ominous clouds swirled above. Warily, both Kristoff and Merida glanced up before looking meaningfully at each other. The few other people in the streets quickened their pace. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"That... is not good." Merida muttered.  
"No kidding." Kristoff quipped, hastening his steps in turn.

The first showering of hail and snow hit as they reached the stables. Merida hadn't been far off when seeking it out earlier. She'd only missed the one turn. Sven leapt towards them as they hurried through the doors. His tongue quickly sought out their faces, much to Kristoff's dismay as half the charcoal left on Merida's face got wiped off. Merida laughed, Sven's enthusiastic welcome helping to return her spirits.

They settled in for lunch, wind howling and snow hammering at the door outside. Someone chuckled. Merida glanced up to Kristoff, eyebrow raised. That was a very odd sounding chuckle for him. He was giving her a confused look. Not him then. Warily, Merida glanced at Sven. The reindeer glanced at them, seemingly cheerful as he chewed his dried grass. She frowned. What was that white thing behind him? She leaned forward, her vile charcoal stained hair leaning forward with her. She would be sure to wash that out after lunch. She stilled as the white mass moved. It peered out from behind the reindeer, taking the discarded purple ice cloak around with it.

Her hand automatically reached for her bow. She griped the comforting wood of its shaft. Kristoff had claimed that separating her from it was like trying to chop her arm off. She couldn't disagree.

That strange chuckling sound was back. Merida's eyes widened.

"What the...?" Kristoff stood up, his open sandwich flopping in his hand.

"Hi," said the white mass. Merida recognised its charcoal eyes and buck tooth smile. It was the snowman from earlier. "I'm Olaf."

It waddled up to her, chuckling again. The purple cloak dragged along behind him. His left stick arm raised itself in an impressive imitation of an arm, a finger like protrusion pointing towards her.  
"And you're..." His voice wavered a moment, a strange hint of emotion colouring his joyful tones. "Not Elsa."

Unfortunately for Olaf, Merida's first instinct, developed over months of fighting the creatures Elsa's curse had awakened in Scotland's haunted hills, was to strike any sapient unnatural beings that approached her. With a cry she swung the wood of her unstrung bow. Olaf's head flew off his shoulders.

Not that he seemed to mind.

* * *

 _(A chapter nearly as cold as my flat. Brr. Feedback would be lovely!)_


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